


Whither Thou Goest (There Also I Shall Go)

by hopesetfree



Category: Stardust - All Media Types, Supernatural
Genre: Angels as Stars, Emotional Sex, Fallen Star Gadreel, First Love, First Time, Gadreel Big Bang, M/M, Soulmates, Stardust AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-15 23:49:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3466631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopesetfree/pseuds/hopesetfree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gadreel just wants to do his job as a star and shine. Sam Winchester just wants to escape his boring life in the tiny town of Wall. Both have existed their entire lives without knowing of the other, but all that changes the night the wicked King of Eden dies. The king's final act knocks Gadreel from the sky, and an incredible pursuit for the heart of a star begins. (Stardust AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wherein a Holy Star Falls

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Stardust AU. If you're expecting anything other than ridiculous adventuring and indulgent fluff, then you have been sadly deprived of Stardust, my friend. You don't need to have seen the movie or read the book to enjoy this, but why would you want to deprive yourself of something so awesome?
> 
> Written for the Gadreel Big Bang. [All the amazing art](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3581646), from the [paintings to the dividers](http://tkodami.livejournal.com/5299.html), came from the talented hands of [TKodami](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TKodami/pseuds/TKodami). _Please_ go and give them love for their astonishing, amazing work! 
> 
> I owe many people thanks. In particular, my unending gratitude goes to [wormwoodworms](http://wormwoodworms.tumblr.com/), my tireless and amazing beta, without whose encouragement this fic never would have happened.

_“Without our stories, we are incomplete.”_

_― Neil Gaiman, Stardust_

 

 

The stars gazed down upon the world, their whispers growing distressed.

The Guardian Star surveyed the realm beneath him with interest. Eden lay quiet and still, giving the aura of peace about the land, all but the nervous flickering of the stars in the sky. His brothers and sisters chattered, their light fluttering high and low. Most had forgotten the proper way to shine as every pair of eyes observed the old King of Eden, soon to pass from the mortal realm.

The star felt no pang of sympathy for the king. He had lived a cruel, vicious life, causing death and destruction wherever he turned his greedy gaze. All but one of his sons had wickedness to match, and the eldest daughter had vanished years earlier, lost to the realm. For her, he had once sung a lament, for she had not an evil bone about her. She deserved a fate better than mystery, but the star could only offer a sorrowful song in her honor.

The starsong of his brethren wobbled, breathy and hesitant, as though a chilled wind had set itself about the heavens. The star whispered in return, his song clear and deep; a counter to the fear in the firmament.

His light wavered, just a sliver. For even though he sang comfort to his family, within his own heart, the icy tremble of dread wound tight.

He peered down to the Palace of Eden, where the king endured his illness. He would soon choose a successor. About his neck dangled the glittering pendant of the Eden kings, the subject of the anxiety of the star’s siblings. On these nights, when a dying king felt particularly sporting, he sometimes sent it flying to the heavens, amused that his squabbling sons would have need to chase it when it fell back down.

The star shivered, his light dimming. The cursed pendant had knocked many brothers and sisters from the sky in the thousands of years the kings of Eden had ruled the land.

But who could know if it would fly tonight? Perhaps nothing would come of the stars’ worry. Before death, the king may choose a new leader, just as the Eden royals sometimes did. His sons might yet slay one another beforehand in their ambition, reliving the old man of his choice. Many events could occur to the sky’s benefit.

Only a rare and powerful token, such as the pendant, could pierce the heavens with enough force to strike a star from the sky. The magic of the most ancient witches could also disrupt nature and pull a star from the sky, but such a thing had not occurred in thousands of years. Those mighty conjurers had all fallen upon the swords of the first Eden nobles long ago, when Eden royalty knew morality. It had been the dawn of the current age of man, when the world once held joy and kindness to smile upon.

The star watched as the King of Eden exhaled, his breath so heavy even the bed groaned with the weight of it. He sent for a servant, and summoned his surviving children.

So, his time grew short indeed.

The Guardian Star sighed, and settled his attention on his glow instead. Times turned to chaos and returned to order in even, predictable cycles in Eden. He could do naught but watch over them by doing what stars did best.

 

Far away from the Palace of Eden, and even farther away from the vast expanse of the heavens, stood a tiny village by the name of Wall. It sat alongside its namesake, a strange, expansive wall made of lime mortar and cobblestone. Lesser-informed folk claimed Wall to be a fiction in the mind of excitable storytellers, but seasoned travelers knew it well.

In this village lived a young man by the name of Samuel Winchester, who worked in the stables of a local duke some miles away in the better-known town of Lawrence. Reliable and diligent in his duties, Sam worked hard and aspired to always do the best job he could. Like many youthful stable boys in the world, he strove to be more than a mere farmhand, and dreamed of the day he could travel the world and become his own man.

The local swordsmith had quite a legendary reputation in those parts. Unlike a typical blacksmith who kept a shop, this swordsmith traveled the world to and fro, and only ever peddled weapons. The rich and powerful spoke of his work, and a wandering minstrel had once called his skill legendary. Sam had overheard a ridiculous rumor crediting him with crafting Merlin’s wand and the sword of King Arthur. Centuries had passed since then, so of course such a rumor could hold no water.

Sam had asked for—and was denied—the privilege of becoming his apprentice. The strange craft piqued his curiosity, and while he knew he would excel at it, his true desire was to follow him on his business around the entire world. But the swordsmith didn’t train students, and his many attempts to convince him otherwise had failed. Sam remained, as of yet, undaunted.

As it turned out, the swordsmith’s business brought him to Lawrence to deliver merchandise to the duke. Sam resolved he would find a way to convince the swordsmith this time. _This time_ , he told himself, he would succeed. He’d taken to improving upon his swordplay, and if he could demonstrate his dedication, perhaps he would make an exception and take him on as an apprentice.

He practiced this imagined conversation over and over again, in front of the tiny mirror in the hallway in his father’s home. The noon sun spilled in the windows, the sunlight hot upon his back. Sam trailed a hand through his damp, short hair, grown just enough to appear unkempt, and wondered for the umpteenth time if she should visit the barber before meeting the swordsmith.

But that might harm his chances, yes? With hair shorn _too_ short, he appeared younger than his twenty years. Perhaps it only served to draw more attention to his overlong limbs and soft face, features he worried wouldn’t benefit him in this endeavor.

Not that he would win the swordsmith over by presentation alone.

He sighed, grabbed his rucksack, and departed for the duke’s stables.

 

“Oh, Sam,” the swordsmith chastised. “Must we have this conversation _again_?”

“I would do anything to become your apprentice,” Sam pleaded. “I’m… I can be useful!”

“Only a man willing to do anything required for the craft could ever be my apprentice,” he countered, his eyebrows lifted.

“I would,” Sam argued. “I would.”

The swordsmith sighed. “I know you believe that, but you are too gentle a soul for some of the more difficult tasks required.”

“I’m strong,” Sam argued. “I can do anything you need.”

“That is not the type of strength I require,” he said. “I know you think you’re ready for such a task, but I don’t make common swords. I make tools for far greater tasks, for quests and creatures you’ve never heard of. I can’t have a stable boy for an apprentice. I need skilled hands.”

“I know!” Sam pleaded. “I am not _just_ a stable boy. I’m a boy who just happens to work in a stable. And I _am_ skilled with my hands. I can prove it to you! I’ve been practicing my fencing.”

“Application is not the same as creation,” he cautioned, but his eyebrow had quirked. “And just where does a farmhand learn to fence?”

“My father taught me.”

He narrowed his eyes. “John Winchester? Bah,” he dismissed. “He’s good with the vermin in these parts, but that's him. _You’ll_ have to do better than that, young man.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but a voice echoing down the hallway interrupted.

“Sam! Are you bothering Chuck again? Don’t you have work to attend to in the stables?”

The swordsmith—Chuck—snorted. “It’s all right, Sir Azazel,” he commented. “Your stable boy is apparently quite an accomplished fencer. He was about to show me.”

The duke trotted down the hall, jaw clenched. Sam stood tall over the both of them, but even still, he knew the duke considered him less than nothing.

Azazel gave him a once over, and turned to Chuck, an appraising noise rising from his throat. “If you’re searching for talented fencers, I know of far more gifted folks in town. Andrew Gallagher, for one. Even Ava Wilson has incredible skill.”

Chuck and Azazel fell into conversation and paced down the hall, and Sam slunk away to complete his duties. After all, he had a job to do.

 

Sam’s father, as it turned out, possessed far more talent than the duke would ever credit him for—especially surprising since John Winchester often found himself tasked with taking down the bigger animals which threatened Wall. Along with the less-than-believable creatures which sometimes came from out of the woods, he hunted local pests and other troublesome beasts.

At the tender age of ten, Sam had believed in impossible creatures far and wide, including everything from werewolves to unicorns. Nine years later, and he had revised his view of the supernatural to something a bit more concrete, as neither magic nor fairy tales existed. But the dreamer within him sometimes wondered if the stranger creatures he’d seen had ambled across the wall from the mysterious land beyond. But no one ever crossed the wall, so who could know? His Father always shied from such conversation, so he rarely brought it up.

On this evening, however, the pair had reached complete agreement on other topics, and Sam found himself seeking his advice.

“Father,” Sam complained, “why won’t he even consider me? I’m talented. Skilled. Even Azazel hires me to do woodwork for him.”

“It’d gall the duke to admit that,” John pointed out.

“I know, but Chuck knows better. Why won’t he even consider me? I’m the best for the job.”

“Perhaps,” his father agreed. “But perhaps the job isn’t best for you.”

“What does _that_ mean?” he asked, with more indignance than he cared to admit to. He trailed nerveless fingers through his short hair, worry heavy like a stone in his belly. Had he lost his own father’s support now?

“I mean that perhaps something better awaits you.” He paused to sip his drink, and offered a warm smile. “You’ve always spoken of traveling the world, seeing its many wonders. If you become Chuck’s apprentice, your freedom will be limited. You’ll only see the places he tends to his work.”

“But Father,” Sam argued, “Chuck does work all over the world.”

He smiled again, his now distant eyes gone soft and wistful. What manner of thing could distract him, Sam wondered? Didn’t he realize the importance of this? How could his mind wander now, of all times?

“There are places far more magical than Paris or Rome, Sam,” he commented, that same knowing smile on his lips.

Sam didn’t approve of his smile. He wanted his father to _understand_.

Instead, he slunk down into the chair, staring at his uneaten meal. Life seemed a strange affair indeed. He worked hard and had intelligence and ambition, but so few opportunities. How could anyone think such a world fair? A fair world would value skill, not birth. But could such a thing ever change if those of noble birth never cared to change the status quo?

“I can hear the gears turning in your head, son,” John said, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “Why don’t you eat dinner for now, and conquer the world later?”

Sullen, Sam stuffed a piece of bread inside his mouth and began to chew.

 

The time had arrived. Samuel Campbell, the wicked King of Eden, had arrived at his final hour.

His sons all stood at his bedside, hunched over and gathered near to hear his dry, raspy words. Only one grieved for their dying father, and incidentally, it was the only one who did not stand to benefit from the king’s death. With his arms clasped behind his back stood Adam Milligan, the illegitimate half-brother to the princes in the room. Family, not ambition, had brought him here this night. After all, tradition stipulated him unfit for the succession.

Because of the non-threat he posed, Samuel’s quarreling children had omitted him from their murderous games. Some even called his mother a liar, whispering in the shadows of how Adam wasn’t even the king's child. All the better for his safety, for so long as he couldn't inherit the throne, his half-brothers would leave him be.

But still, he'd been dubbed a prince all the same, if not a crown prince, and so he kept his guard up.

He watched the scene unfold before him, holding back tears. His anxious brothers shuffled about as the holy bishop murmured last rites. His father had shown a small measure of tenderness to him, all because he _could_. Adam had not been groomed to rule as a brutal, powerful king of Eden.

All knew of the battle between the first king and the ancient dark witches, who had once tried to rule all of Eden with their dark magic and stolen hearts of creatures most pure. The early rulers had intended to use the immense power of spoils of the battle—the four rings of the fearsome horsemen who rode with the witches, and the ruby of the first Witch King—to keep peace on the land. But now the kings only inspired terrified obedience in the hearts of the people.

Adam knew all this well. Perhaps the lack of ambition for the throne made it all so clear to him, when the others failed to understand. He’d bristled as he watched his brothers kill one another for the throne. Even his sisters had not been spared, even though they could not inherit.

Well, if the women had become the last surviving heirs to Eden, perhaps the Bishop would have made an exception and named one as regent. Perhaps for Mary. Not Gwen, so much.

Gwen had ambition, which probably explained why Christian had lopped her head clean off years earlier. Father had laughed. _Laughed_. But Mary had been gentle. Kind. Whatever foul fate had befallen her at her brothers' hands, she had deserved it not.

“My, my,” the king ridiculed. “This is highly irregular. There are three of my sons before me, two of which tradition dictates can succeed me. When I was your age..."

"You killed all six of your brothers," Christian interrupted, grinning, "and all before your father even felt ill."

The king snickered, and nodded. His face shone with pride, and it made Adam's chest heavy with grief.

The young prince kept his features carefully schooled. Yes, even he knew of his father’s wickedness and cruelty. His brothers would do no better.

 

Sam clutched his package with tired hands, weaving through the busy street until he arrived at the inn. He had worried reaching the swordsmith’s room would present difficulty, but Chuck sat outside, staring up into the night sky.

“Hello, Sam,” he greeted, his gaze unwavering from the sky. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”

Sam couldn’t keep a grin from warming his lips. “Not a chance.”

Chuck tipped his head down, his eyes cutting across at him—but he had an amused smile on his lips. “I’ve been expecting you.”

He straightened, rising to his feet. “Walk with me. There’s a quiet spot west of here that I quite enjoy. And you can show me the product of your handiwork.” He pointed at the cloth-wrapped package, and tilted his head. “That _is_ what that is, yes?”

Sam grinned, and nodded. “I’m going to prove to you that I can make anything you ask. Any item you set out to teach me to craft, I’ll forge it into being. I will be the most dedicated apprentice you could ever hope to have.”

Chuck motioned with his hand, and Sam fell into stride beside him. The night air smelled of dirt and cut grass, both of which faded as they left the manicured gardens at the center of town. A silence fell between them, but he found it somewhat comfortable for once. The swordsmith hadn’t dismissed him outright, anyway, so Sam hoped it represented progress.

“Tell me, Sam,” Chuck queried as they skirted the edges of town. “Do you want to know how to forge arrows from the boiling magma of Hell? Or holy blades from the light of Heaven?” He grinned. “In order to make these things, you must first be able to hold such power in the palm of your hand. Can you?”

Sam’s breath caught in his throat. Surely, Chuck joked with him? Such things were not possible. Certainly, Sam had seen his share of monsters, but…

“Yes,” he answered, thrown by the question. “That is, if you teach me, I will know exactly how,” he hurried to add. He couldn’t afford to sound meek or hesitant, not now.

“Ah, that’s the trick, isn’t it?” Chuck asked, voice bright.

He stared up at the cherry tree on the edge of the creek, and moved to sit underneath it. For lack of options, Sam joined him.

“Let’s see,” the swordsmith wondered aloud, eyes peering between the branches to the stars. “There’s a strange air about the night. I feel like something important might happen.”

 

"Mary?" Samuel rasped.

"No, Father," he replied. "It's me, Adam."

Samuel blinked several times, and his vision cleared. "Ah." His gaze fell upon the others in the room, and for once, he did not appear so amused. "Christian. Mark. You both know a woman cannot inherit Eden's throne."

"Exactly," Christian agreed. "So why would I kill my sister when my brother beside me still lives?"

Samuel's lips crinkled, a raspy chuckle spilling from his lips. "It did not stop Johnny from killing Gwen." The chuckle morphed into a loud cackle. "I remember how he enjoyed that."

"As I recall, Gwen attempted to kill him first, after she’d done away with Mary," Mark added. “Don’t know why she didn’t succeed. Johnny was an easy target.”

Samuel hummed, and then sighed. "Well, then. To the matter of the succession." He reached round his neck and removed the glittering pendant which marked him king. "We shall settle this in an unconventional manner."

Adam observed, mouth pressed into a thin line. He had never seen his father without the pendant. As the elderly king held it, the ruby red gem began to glitter and glow. After a moment, Samuel released the chain, and the pendant hovered about in a circle before them.

"Only he of royal blood can restore the royal ruby," he intoned in a gravelly voice. His eyes settled upon Adam. "The one of you three which does so shall be Eden's king."

Adam's heart nearly stopped. Three? But... only Christian and Mark could inherit the throne! Surely he didn't mean…?

Apparently, Christian and Mark had the same idea. "Three, Father?" Mark demanded. "But Adam, he—."

"He is unconventional, but with so many of you yet breathing, so is this situation." Samuel coughed, his voice heaving and cracking with strain. "He of royal blood can restore the stone and shall become Eden's new king."

Mark went wide-eyed, as though scandalized. Christian smirked at Adam, arms crossed and head thrown back with laughter. It seemed a compliment of sorts, as though congratulating his young half-brother for succeeding in a devious plot.

Adam blinked, stunned at the sudden turn of things. He felt ridiculously grateful the bishop stood beside them, lest Mark and Christian have the idea to turn on him immediately. They would restrain themselves in the presence of the clergy… but only for a time.

Samuel's head lulled back to the pillow behind him, his final breath spilling from his lips.

At once, all color drained from the ruby and its luminescent glow ceased, leaving a plain, colorless gem. The pendant continued to hover in midair, as though waiting for one of the three to claim it.

Adam's mind finally caught up with him, and he thought perhaps to lunge for it. In the end, it didn't matter, for Mark and Christian did so before he had the chance. The stone evaded them, flying out the window to climb into the heavens.

The three men stalked to the window, watching as it soared out of sight, higher and higher, to the farthest reaches of Eden.

And then, a thing most unexpected happened. The king’s sons witnessed a bright explosion in the heavens, a nova of white and blue streaking across the sky like silver fire. What a show the royal pendant made.

Adam spun on his heels and raced from the room, for any tenuous illusion of safety had vanished. He had a chance, however slim, to reset the wrongs of Eden’s wicked monarchy. The thought of becoming king unsettled him, but he had no choice. He had to find the stone before his wicked brothers did so.

 

The mere mortal sons of the deceased king could not realize the blinding light streaking across the sky was not, in fact, their coveted pendant—though it certainly came along for the ride.

The Guardian Star, like all other stars in the sky, had watched the king’s last moments with worry. A moment of distraction had him spare a thought for the youngest of the sons, who possessed a righteous spirit, capable of righting the sins of Eden's royalty.

He'd watched the stone depart Eden, racing towards him into the highest reaches of the sky. His light fluttered, but he told himself the stone held no danger for him. Not truly, yes? The vast and wide realm held much open space, and so surely it would soar far away.

He stared at the approaching pendant, muttering the reassurance to himself up until the very moment he realized it would not pass him by. He gasped, the terrible noise disrupting his starsong, and had no time to otherwise react. It struck him about the ankle with a force so incredible the star recoiled, and his grip upon the firmament loosened.

He panicked. He had not moved in millennia, and the shock and pain of the blow caused his ceaseless shine to go dark. How could one be expected to shine when injured by a rogue necklace, spoiled by the touch of wicked men, no less?

But the moment of lost light sealed his fate as his power extinguished with it. And thus Gadreel, the Guardian Star, in the thirty millionth year of his reign in Heaven, lost his grip upon the sky and fell from the sky.

And a great many things began to happen all at once.

 

A loud crack echoed across the sky, leaving a hollow, booming swell in its wake. Sam’s eyes darted heavenward to trace the source of the alarming noise, only to see a shooting star lighting up the sky. It left a trail of liquid white behind it, pure and unblemished.

“Oh my,” the swordsmith exclaimed, “a falling star. What a mighty blade I could make from such a celestial stone!”

Sam opened his mouth to reply—perhaps to comment on the beauty of the light streaming ahead of them, or on the rarity of the phenomena—but he froze. Whatever he’d been about to say evaporated away from his mind as an different thought took root.

“I could bring you that star,” he stated, turning eagerly to the older man. “To become your apprentice, I would go and bring the star to you.”

Chuck turned to him, an odd light in his crinkled eyes. “Oh, so you’d cross the wall, would you? Traverse hundreds of miles to bring me this star?”

Sam nodded, his heart thundering in his chest, his eyes bright with wild hope. “I would. I _will_.” He moved forward on his heels, hands gesturing. “I said I’d do anything, remember? I meant it.”

The swordsmith thought on it a moment. “Anything? Hmm.” His eyes went distant, but the amused smile returned with a single, decisive nod. “Very well, then! Sam Winchester, go and fetch me that star, and I shall take you as my apprentice.”

“Really?!”

“Of course,” he replied, but he held up a finger. “Now, my business with the duke will be concluded within a week. You have until then to return with my star.”

Sam bounced on his heels. “Deal!”

 

Hundreds of miles away, in a castle hidden away in a narrow gorge lived three slumbering old women. Should a stranger have happened upon them, they seemed little more than harmless old hags, given to seclusion and eccentricity. But no one could ever happen upon them by chance, for these women were far from mere women, but mighty, terrible witches whose spellwork concealed them from the sight of all. And so they remained hidden away in their castle, awaiting no one knew what.

Once upon a time, there had been stories of these witches, but they’d all fallen into legend and myth. The stories told of the cunning Meg and the loyal Ruby. The most frightening story of all told the tale of Her Dark Majesty Abaddon, the Witch Queen, and a knight of the Old Kingdom in her former life. How unfortunate for Eden that these stories had been all but forgotten!

As chance would have it, Abaddon had stepped outside to breathe in the air of a warm, springtime breeze, and chanced to see the Guardian Star as it sailed across the sky.

For a moment, the old witch stared slack-jawed, her silvery hair fluttering in the wind as she questioned her decrepit eyes. But no, she had not been mistaken. A gasp spilled from her lips, echoing about the narrow gorge which hid their castle.

And then she smirked, the wrinkled skin of her face crinkling in glee. For a star had fallen, and she and her sisters would see the glory of their youth restored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll notice I tweaked Adam's parentage here. Instead of being John's son, he's vaguely related to Mary's family instead.


	2. The Deal

Abaddon raced inside the castle, ignoring the sharp ache such quick movement caused her joints. She approached the bed where her sisters slept, and swatted the footboard with her hands hard enough to sting.

“Meg! Ruby!” she nearly sang. “Wake up! _Now_!”

“What is it now?” Ruby yawned, her posture slack with boredom.

Meg sat up, her eyes expectant as she tapped a withered finger on her thigh.

“A star has fallen,” Abaddon chimed, and swinging her arms in excitement. If her body would have allowed it, she might have danced.

Both women stared back, eyes as blank and pale as their ghastly skin. Then, all at once, realization settled upon them, sharp and heavy, and the pair gasped. In a flurry of wrinkled skin and bony limbs, they all but leapt to their feet.

If an outsider had viewed this strange scene, the three would have made a poor sight indeed as they raced across the marble floor. They had become as old and dusty themselves as their abode around them. Their hair fluttered about like wispy, thin cobwebs of gray, and they all limped as though their knees no longer knew how to support their too-thin gait. This strange sight rounded out with the incredible noise of screeching animals in their cages, themselves roused by the witches’ quick, jerky movements.

Abaddon marched just ahead of her sisters, throwing the doors of a dirty cabinet open. Like everything else, the shelves held a thick layer of dust, but inside laid treasures few mortals could comprehend. The crystallized soul of a dark fairy glowed faintly on the top shelf, next to a sleeping potion mixed with the slime of a toadstool. Other treasures and wonders resided inside, but the target of Abaddon’s search eluded her.

She stared at the empty shelf, her thin lips drawn in a tight line. “Where are the Babylon Candles?”

Meg's snort echoed through the hollow chamber. "You used the last one, Abaddon, two-hundred years ago. Don’t you recall?"

The Witch Queen ground her teeth, annoyed with the incredible mistake. How could she allow such a oversight to happen? Had her mind aged along with her body?

"We could look for another," Ruby suggested.

Abaddon scoffed. "Have you forgotten they’re difficult to find? And to think, I thought _my_ mind had withered with age…."

Ruby tensed, her hands rising in front of her to placate the Witch Queen. "I know that, but I thought—."

"But," Abaddon interrupted, "you'd have us chasing after another candle while some other witch gets _our_ star!"

Ruby fell silent, her head bowed. She backed away from Abaddon, her eyes darting to the many cages of animals.

"Meg," she called out, "we need information."

Meg also set her gaze upon the cages, and her lips drew together in a twisted smile. "Yes. Information." Silver hair swept across her eyes as she ambled about, the burden of many centuries written in the lines of her face. She unlocked a small cage with a wave of her hand and reached inside, her twig-like fingers closing vice-like around a rat.

A silver glint caught Abaddon’s eyes, and she made a soft noise of displeasure. How she hated to see the foul beasts’ blood, for they should never have to resort to such lowly uses of their power. But times were always lean between stars. They had to make due with what they could for now.

"Hmm," Meg hummed, her fingers trailing through blood. "The star has fallen about one hundred miles north of here. If we move quickly, we will intercept her."

"But which of us shall go?" Ruby asked. She grinned, bright and proud. "Perhaps the youngest of us?"

"Or the wisest," Meg countered, lifting an eyebrow.

Abaddon glared at the two women as they strutted about. Obviously, the Witch Queen had the most power, so why shouldn’t she go? But she held her tongue, and gestured to the rat’s corpse.

“The Fates shall guide us,” she commanded, and the other women nodded.

Ruby and Meg shut their eyes for the divination, and reached blindly for the vermin’s organs. Whomever the Fates guided to the superior organ would go and fetch the star.

Abaddon had never trusted in the power of the Fates. The Moon, the only god she knew of with certainty, would forever and always oppose the witches. And in thousands of years, Abaddon had never set eyes upon any evidence of the Fates. So why leave such an important task up to blind chance? She had not become the Witch Queen by behaving as she’d been told, after all.

She snuck a quick glance at the rat and reached for its heart, shutting her eyes at the last moment to maintain the illusion of divination. After all, her eyes had been closed when she first touched the heart. That made it quite fair.

"I got its spleen," Ruby commented, deflating.

"I plucked its liver," Meg said, a smug grin on her lips.

"And I've it's heart," Abaddon followed, unable to contain a wicked grin.

The other two women glared at her, but they would not argue with the divination.

"You're gonna need what's left of the last star," Ruby sighed, moving back to the cabinent to grab a heavy, dusty box from the rear of the middle shelf.

The box held all sorts of enchantments, and to the eye seemed black as onyx and heavy as stone. Three faded ribbons of different colors wound around it, each knotted with magic from each sister to ensure no one could remove the contents without the permission of the others.

The three women tapped the box with their fingertips, and the ribbons each unwound themselves, peeling away cobwebs and layers of dust and grime with them.

Abaddon's wrinkled lips twisted into a grin as she opened the lid. The fragment of the star’s heart within bathed the room in blinding light. To harm a star, the bright child of the Moon, and ingest such a sacred thing polluted them in ways most would shirk away from. But the trio wielded might unknown to most witches, and all of Eden would one day worship them. So what matter the profanity of the act? Who did they have to answer to? The stars would not descend from the sky to seek justice.

Well, not again, at least.

If they did, Abaddon would welcome them. She and her sisters would each find and enslave a star of their own, cleave its heart from its chest, and swallow the organ whole. An entire heart would make her as immortal as the stars themselves, and young and beautiful for the rest of time.

But for now, she needed her sisters, and thus had to share, awaiting the day she might find a heart all her own to eat.

She reached into the box, trapping the glowing, lustrous heart underneath her chilled hand. The bright, blue-white light squirmed and danced about within the box, vainly trying to escape the Witch Queen’s grasp. But Abaddon would not allow it to elude her, and closed aching fingers around it. She thrust the fragment of heart into her mouth and swallowed it in one swift movement.

She gasped, the light expanding everywhere within her all at once. It burned, pure and splendid, stripping away the pains of old age in her frail body. After the flare of pure heat, a pleasant chill washed over her, followed again by nigh-unbearable heat. The holy light worked in waves of hot and cold, restoring everything it touched from the inside out.

Abaddon shed the ragged shreds of her cloak from her shoulders, and tore the old, cobwebbed mat of hair she once prided herself from her scalp. The pain of ripping her hair lasted only an instant. Her old, decrepit skin glowed with starlight, turning youthful and beautiful.

When she next opened her eyes, a shock of dark, red hair spilled from her scalp. She brushed the radiant strands from her eyes, her now-restored teeth bared in a feral grin. She strutted to the nearest mirror, shedding her time-worn robe to admire her nude form. And surely, there stood the reflection of the Witch Queen, glorious and dangerous.

The star’s final spark slowly dimmed, having forgiven all the ravages of time. Abaddon lifted a hand to her chest, her eyes fluttering shut as she felt the last flicker of the capture star die away.

When she opened her eyes, she caught a glimpse of Meg’s exasperated sigh from the very corner of the mirror.

“Worry not, my sisters,” she comforted. “When I return, there will be enough for us all.”

“Be quick, sister,” Ruby said, her eyes never veering from Abaddon’s. “The last star which fell was lost to us. We cannot allow this opportunity to pass us by.”

Abaddon suppressed a frown. Ah yes, the star which had fallen a century earlier. Their great failure. Even the runes had not revealed who managed to kill their star before they’d reached it. But no matter. They would claim this star for themselves.

Her grin turned predatory. “Now. Bring me a Moon Blade.”

 

Sam moved with purpose, stalking along the curve of the solid, stone wall from which Wall had garnered its name. The structure gave the illusion of stretching forever in both directions, like something out of a storybook. But once, on horseback, he’d ridden up and down the span of the wall as a child. He’d hoped to locate the end, maybe even to hop over to the other side for a few minutes where there stood no guard to stop him. But in his half-hour of riding, he’d found no end to the wall. It had excited his imagination as a child. What an amazing thought! A neverending, magical wall!

He’d written a letter to the Royal Academy of Sciences—only succeeding after he’d pestered his father endlessly for the address—only to receive a response that no, a wall could not stretch into infinity, and that no magical land could exist on the other side. Sam had not asked about the magical land, but it made him wonder if such a land did exist. Had the royal astronomer been asked about this subject before?

But Sam only worried about one question at the moment: Namely, whether or not he could cross the wall. One old man stood guard, so perhaps Sam could make him see reason. After all, Bobby Singer had lived many years, and the locals praised him for his vigilance and wisdom.

As he approached the gap in the wall, Mr. Singer rose to his feet. “And where do you think you’re going, John? Trying to cross the wall again?”

Sam froze, his eyes going wide. True, Mr. Singer’s eyesight might have faded with the years, but what about _that_ now?

“Again?” he repeated, his face slack. “I mean, Mr. Singer, it’s not John. It’s me, Sam.”

The old guard opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. “Oh. Isn’t it too late for you to be wandering about?”

But Sam’s attention had fallen elsewhere. “Did you say my father was here?” He paused. “Did he try to cross the wall?”

Bobby shook his head. “Nevermind about that. What are you doing here?”

He blinked, his mind trying to make sense about that. He’d ask his father about _that_ later, since it didn’t seem Mr. Singer would speak more on it.

“Well,” Sam began, and decided the truth might benefit him the most, “I need to cross the wall. Chuck will take me on as his apprentice if I go and fetch the fallen star.”

The guard didn’t seem impressed. “Fallen star, hmm? I didn’t see a star fall.”

“It fell just a few minutes ago,” Sam pleaded, pointing up at the sky. “It was brilliant; all blue and white like some kind of fire. You _had_ to see it.”

Mr. Singer sighed. “Be that as it may, you know the rules. No one crosses the wall.”

Sam had known he’d need an edge to get by, so he’d been prepared. “I brought this for you,” he said, and produced a bottle of fine whiskey. “Aged fifteen years. Best in the store!”

Bobby hummed and took the bottle, examining it closely. “You didn’t steal this, did you, Sam?”

“What?” he choked. “No! I wouldn’t do that, sir. Word would get out, and I’d be fired!”

“Hmm.” He examined the bottle, and with great hesitation, handed it back. “It’s a decent bribe, kid, but I can’t make any exceptions. No one crosses the wall.”

Sam stared down at the bottle before closing his hand around the stem, the wheels in his head already turning. “Ah. Well. That sounds rather final, then.”

He’d been prepared for this possibility, of course. A small, meaningless dismissal from Bobby Singer wouldn’t stop him from getting his star.

“Yep,” the guard said, but his voice had a soft, conciliatory edge to it. He reached out and patted Sam’s back as they began to move away from the wall. “Say ‘hi’ to your dad for me,” he said.

Now or never. Sam spun on his heels and sprinted with all his might, racing to make his way across the partition in the wall before Bobby could stop him.

What happened next he had to piece together from the bruises and flashes of movement he barely saw. The old guard—who possessed surprising strength and agility—flipped entirely over him, scoring a somersault just in time to land on the opposite side of the wall and barring Sam’s way. As if this display hadn’t stunned Sam already, Bobby spun his staff, knocking Sam first in the head, then in the gut, thrusting him backwards into the territory of Wall.

Winded, Sam stared up at the guard, his whole body smarting from the well-aimed defense.

“Off with ya,” he said, breathless himself. “Idjit.”

Sam limped away, pride wounded.

 

Eden stretched across a vast area, larger than all the Earth put together. For every fictional land and fairy tale in Earth culture, a place like it existed within Eden’s magical realm. From the tropical island oasis of Atlantis to the snowy peaks of Alfheim—quite popular with the Eden kings for snow sports of all sorts—when one made up a story about a place which did not or could not exist on Earth, one could rest assured an identical place existed somewhere in Eden.

Eden also held every creature man had ever dreamed up, and every power man had ever desired. From the lovely games of fairies in the meadows, to elixirs borne of magic, and the rarest power of all, immortality.

So it happened that about four hundred miles west of the gap in the wall, deep within the territory of Eden, stood a holy glade within a great forest. Unlike the warm, springtime air in Wall, the wind here howled cold and unforgiving. The arctic chill flowed down from the mighty Kunlun Mountains of lore, and the land of the valley below hadn’t quite decided yet whether or not it should freeze solid.

In this frigid, evergreen forest, within its only glade stood a smouldering crater, dozens of feet deep and unimaginably wide. For a time, it glowed brighter than the moon itself, and only the remoteness of the glade kept it from garnering much attention. The birds and animals of the forest had fled the blinding light in terror, and even as it dimmed, they hesitated to go nearer. What had destroyed their most sacred glade? This bastion of holy ground hidden carefully within the wicked realm of the corrupt Eden kings?

As the light began to dim, a moan of pain echoed through the remnants of the glade; soft, but deep, and distinctly male. When the glow had faded into something bearable for mortals to gaze upon, a creature laid in the center upon his back, shifting about in the dirt. And then his light faded entirely, and quiet returned to the forest.

The man remained quiet for a time, but his face spoke volumes about the pain he endured. The fall had not been kind to him, and no wonder. He’d fallen from the heavens without so much as a soft place to land. If the remnants of his former light had not sought out the holy glade, he might have sustained far worse injury.

The star hissed as he attempted to move his leg, and flinched at the harshness of the noise. Though his voice had little volume, it carried far in the cold stillness of night. And since he had only ever heard the sweet sound of starsong and prayer before, his plain, physical voice sounded jerky and ungraceful to his ears.

With worry, he stared down at the limb he had not used in ages. What manner of injury could he have sustained? He’d observed doctors at work in his time, but knew nothing of medicine. How could a fallen star begin to know what manner of injury ailed him?

The wind chilled him to the bone, and in his misery, he stared up to his twinkling brothers and sisters. How fortunate the pendant had not taken more of them. Why, he had been jolted enough by the strike to lose his grip upon the firmament. Who knew what a strike more powerful could accomplish?

Gadreel turned, observing the dim, fiery glow of the pendant as it cooled in the night air. The rogue gem had accompanied him for the trip down, it seemed.

He wanted to abhor it; to take it and fling it into the deepest sea so it might never harm another star. The cursed object had knocked him from his home, and knew only the touch of wicked kings for centuries.

But his Father’s law on the matter gave him no choice. If any treasure of another realm came into the hands of a star by any mishap or accident, the star bore a duty to carry the treasure until such time he could return it. And while Gadreel might argue the pendant flying into the sky had been no accident, he neither could discount it. Which indeed meant he had become bound to it.

He wondered if he had displeased his Father. After all, why would the Moon allow an obedient child to fall from the sky? And if Gadreel had indeed angered the Moon, he could not risk upsetting Him further by disobeying His laws. Only one star had ever returned to the sky, but perhaps if he acted as a good son upon the ground, the Moon would allow him to return.

He hoped it would be soon.

He reached out an arm, and closed trembling fingers around the chain. His arm and hand felt heavy, but then, only because he had not used them in so long. As he stared at the pendant, cool to the touch despite it’s glow, Gadreel wondered if he’d misunderstood the gem. After all, it was nothing more than a pendant. It had no ill will, and certainly had no desires of its own. And if it had found him of all the stars shining in the sky, mayhaps there existed a fated reason why? The Moon had never been one to gamble with His star children, after all. Perhaps he had not angered his Father, but instead had a destined task.

He could only know by moving forward. He had no pocket within which he might carry it, so he clasped the jewel about his neck. The thick, golden chain sat heavy upon his chest, out-of-place against his thin, silvery shirt.

He shivered, again noting the chill in the air and the insufficient clothing he wore. How would he keep warm in such garb? In the sky, he’d needed nothing else, but here, in Eden, it provided miniscule warmth.

How would he even move, much less find his way to warmer ground?

He sat up, moving slowly, grateful to find his muscles worked well enough even after millenia of disuse. He turned his eyes skyward, and strained to hear the voices of his brothers and sisters… but he heard nothing.

Stars saw much only because they had much time to gaze upon the Earth. Unlike the Moon, they could not see all. And outside of prayers, which took ages to reach them in the sky, they heard nothing from the land. So while every star could see Gadreel’s fall, they would not hear his voice if he called to them. It would take years for any prayer he offered to reach them.

He wrapped his arms about his body, cold and aching deep within as despair began to swallow him whole. Assuming he managed to regain his Father’s blessing, or achieve whatever task had been set out for him, however would he get back in the sky? He had his Moon Blade to keep him safe, but he knew not how to use it. He watched over wandering souls so they might not lose their way, and sang prayers for the lost. He had no training as a warrior, not like many of the others, such as the Star of Thursday. But then, the Star of Thursday had fallen a century ago, and though the stars had searched for him ever since, he had never resurfaced.

A noise of pain fell from his lips as he reached for his aching limb. What would he do?

 

Sam made a ridiculous amount of noise as he fumbled about in the darkness, at last locating a cold slab of meat to cradle over his aching eye. Despite his age and well-known love of strong drink, Bobby Singer landed quite a mean blow.

“Sam?” his father’s voice called, followed by careful, soft footsteps. When he met his father’s eyes over the dim candlelight, the older man tilted his head in confusion. “Did you get into a fistfight, son?”

“Not exactly,” Sam groaned. “Mr. Singer did this.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Bobby is ninety-seven.”

“And has apparently had ample time to practice his craft,” Sam added, groaning.

John moved to sit across from him at the table, his brow furrowed. “Why were you talking to Mr. Singer? At the wall?”

Sam huffed, and peeled the steak from his eye. “I could ask you the same, Father.”

He froze, wide eyes regarding his son. Then, confusingly, his face morphed into a sort of tired acceptance.

“I see.” He paused a long moment, chewing on his bottom lip. “Son, come with me. It’s time to show you something.”

He motioned towards the stairs, and stood, ascending them quickly. Sam frowned, but followed, leaving the chilled steak behind on the table—he could always replace it in the icebox later. He trotted up the stairs after his father, watching wordlessly as he pulled the hatch to the house’s tiny attic. A small set of hideaway stairs revealed themselves, descending at his father’s guidance.

Sam followed him dutifully up the awkward pull-down stairs, which had always felt wrong for his long legs. As a tiny child, he’d been sternly told to never play up in the attic. Of course, he’d disobeyed a few times and gotten punished for his childishness. But then one time, shortly after hitting puberty, he’d hit his head on the ceiling trying to climb up, and he’d had to take a trip to the town doctor for that. He’d sort of lost his desire to scale the stairs after that, and subsequently, hadn’t been up there in years.

Not until now, at least, watching as his father produced a match and lit an old lantern. It had a thick coat of rust and seemed to have fallen into disuse years earlier. Perhaps it had sat up there all those years, awaiting this very moment.

Sam had to duck to miss the rafters, and in the end, crawled to follow his father into the tiny recess in the back. He spared a worried thought for the safety of the area, and about the stability of the boards beneath him. He knew his oversized limbs carried more weight than the average man, and as Mr. Singer had demonstrated tonight, when Sam fell, he fell quite hard.

“Here we are,” his father breathed, tugging at an old, loose board. It popped into his hand easily. He reached inside to pull free a package, wrapped up in soft, white cloth.

Sam crawled the rest of the distance, and had just enough room to prop himself up on his elbows. “What’s this?” he asked.

“This,” John said, moving the package closer to him, “is from your mother.”

Sam blinked. Once. Twice. Then his jaw dropped. His father had long refused to speak on the subject of Sam’s mother, and as a young boy, he’d come to assume she’d died. Perhaps claimed by some malady which had roamed through the village, or by one of the monstrous creatures which occasionally wandered by. But he’d always wondered if there’d been more to the story.

“My mother,” he breathed, his long fingers reaching out to touch the cloth. He examined it in the dim lamplight; marveled at how it resembled the most unblemished cotton, but felt smooth and soft as silk.

“Her name is Mary,” his father continued, “and when I met her, she lived in a town beyond the wall.” From his pocket, he produced a soft, white flower, no larger than a garden weed. “She gave me this. It’s called snowdrop.” His lips warmed into a fond smile as he twirled the stem between his fingers. “She said it would give me luck.”

Sam could see a story in that, a fond remembrance upon which his father did not elaborate. He opened his mouth to inquire, but hesitated as his father moved to place the tiny white flower in Sam’s shirt pocket. He reached up to his pocket to trail his fingertips across it, astonished to find it smooth and hard to the touch. It seemed frozen in weightless glass.

He admired the flower for a moment, the lovely token from a mother he’d never met. Only a minute later did John’s words catch up with Sam’s addled mind.

“My mother is from the other side of the wall!” He smiled, and a merry laugh spilled from his lips. “So that’s what Mr. Singer meant when he asked if you were crossing the wall again!”

John chuckled, his eyes bright with memories Sam could only guess at. “Your mother is from the land on the other side, a magical realm named Eden. She gave you your name, Sam. When you were born, she sent you here, along with a note to me, telling me your name was Samuel.”

He unwrapped the bundle, his hands careful and tender with the package. The cloth hid a short tube, wrapped in paper and tied carefully with string. Along the side, scrawled in beautiful script, it said, “ _My Dearest Sam_.”

“I’ve never opened it,” his father said, and he passed it to Sam. “It’s addressed to you.”

Sam gazed down at the too-small package in his hand, wondering what secrets it might hold. With nerveless fingers, he pulled tight at the knot binding it, and watched as the string pooled on the attic floor. He unwrapped the paper from around a black, heavy tube. It felt waxy and soft in his hand, and Sam realized the paper had been wrapped and tied around a candle.

He examined it before passing it to his father, his attention focused on the letter. He carefully unfolded it, worried about its age, only to find it as fresh as if she’d just penned it. Perhaps some sort of magic? Hadn’t his father just claimed Eden a magical realm?

He began to read aloud, clutching the parchment with clammy hands:

_My Dearest Sam,_

_Please know I have only ever loved you, and wanted the best for you. Had my mistress allowed it, I would have kept you with me forever. My dearest wish is that we will meet again someday._

_I have nothing to give you but this candle, for the fastest way to travel is by candlelight, and I pray it shall reunite us one day. To use it, think of me and only me. I will think of you every day, for always._

_-Your mother._

Sam’s heart thundered in his chest as he finished. He not only had a mother, but she had written him a letter! She’d loved him, but couldn’t keep him. How could he ever find her? If he couldn’t even cross the wall to find a fallen star, how would he ever cross the wall and find his mother?

He stared at the black candle, taking it back from his father’s hand. _The fastest way to travel is by candlelight_ , the letter had said. But what did that mean?

“I’ve seen one of these before,” his father murmured, eyes trained upon the candle. “They worship the Moon as their god over there. When I visited the market town on the other side of the wall, your mother and I offered a prayer to the Moon. She had told me it would take many years for our prayer to reach Heaven. If only we had ‘a candle’, she’d said, we could have been there and back in moments to deliver our prayer.”

Sam glanced between his father and the candle, amazed at the story. “These candles can transport you places?”

He nodded. “I saw a witch selling one. I tried to trade for it, but I failed. Your mother said they were rare and valuable. She must have found one later.”

Sam stared at the featureless, plain candle. This waxy, soft mass could do all that? How marvelous. What other wonders could he find across the wall?

“Could it cross the wall?” he asked. “Would it take me to her?”

His father’s eyes grew wide, but the surprise faded quickly. “I believe it might, son.”

Sam shivered in excitement, and tilted the candle towards him. “Do you have a light?”

His father shifted in the tiny space, sliding the lantern closer and tipping the rusty top away so Sam could dip the candle’s wick into the flame.

“Be careful,” he warned. “It’s a magical land. There are witches and monsters there.”

Sam nodded, and with a steadying breath, pushed the wick into the flame. He didn't know what to expect, and wondered if this would hurt at all. He couldn’t imagine his mother from a beautiful, magical realm would send him a candle which might harm him. Especially after her comment about traveling by candlelight—.

At that precise moment, the wick caught fire, and Sam had no idea how to handle the mighty storm which had swept him away. He felt himself darting to and fro, and couldn’t get find direction until he remembered his mother’s words in the letter: _Think of me and only me_.

So he thought of his mother, of love and warmth and kindness, and… oh yes, the pride she’d feel for her son once he’d retrieved the star and become the apprentice of the swordsmith. And since he’d made his way into the realm of Eden, he could find the star soon, and—.

With a bone-jarring crash, the candle’s storm abated, and he found himself sprawled on the uneven ground, blinking rapidly. Except the ground beneath him felt rather warm, and it made a noise, and… _oh_.

“Oh!” he shouted, scrambling back to his feet. He saw a man before him, lying flat on his back, a expression of strained discomfort painted across his face. This… wasn’t his mother, not unless things worked very strangely in the realm of Eden.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!” Sam scrambled forwards, moving to kneel beside the fallen man. “Are you all right? I don’t know what happened, I didn’t want to…! That is, I’m looking for someone else. I’m _so_ sorry. I didn’t mean to collide with you.”

The man on the ground exhaled through his nose, his eyes screwing shut. Sam knew that expression—the sort that one had when highly annoyed, and typically one that preceded a lecture.

Instead, the man just sighed. “It’s all right.”

His eyes fluttered open, hesitant and slow, as though blinking the glare of a bright light from them. Sam knew the candle had been blinding from within its fiery motion, but how bright might it have been to an outsider?

The man moved to sit up, slowly, and Sam rushed to help him, mortified at what he’d done. “I’ve never done that before, and I didn’t know it would be so difficult. I’m so sorry I hit you. Are you hurt?”

“You’ve already apologized,” the man said, and finally met Sam’s eyes. He seemed somewhat dazed, and Sam worried he’d collided with the man even harder than he’d realized. “And no. You’ve not caused me further injury.”

“Oh, good,” Sam then paused, going pale as he mulled over his words. “Wait, um… further injury? Is everything okay?”

“The fall injured my leg.”

Sam blinked, and his eyes settled upon the man’s leg. He’d pulled up one silvery leg of his pants at some point before Sam’s arrival, and sure enough, it had swollen an angry shade of red.

“May I?” Sam asked, his hands gesturing towards the leg. “I’m not a doctor, but I know a thing or two about injuries.”

The man frowned, but the intensity of it faded after a long moment. “Yes,” he sighed. “But please take care. It…aches.”

As horrid as the injury seemed, he well imagined it hurt quite a lot. He shifted on his feet to move closer, running a gentle hand along the calf. While reddened, it felt cool to the touch and had no obvious swelling. Likely, the cold air held blame for its redness. The man’s ankle, on the other hand, throbbed hot and fierce under the lightest touch of his fingertips, swollen far larger than it’s typical size.

“Your leg seems fine, but your ankle isn’t,” he told him. “I think it may be broken, but I’m not sure. Either way, I wouldn’t walk on it if I were you.”

The man turned away, but not before Sam saw a dark flicker of worry in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he said anyway.

Of course, it seemed no one else passed nearby, and the injured man seemed nearly as tall as Sam. He’d need major help if he meant to find a doctor somewhere. He felt a niggling obligation grow in his chest, morphing into a heavy thrum in his bones. He couldn’t just leave the guy here, could he? How else would he get out? Crawl?

But Sam couldn’t waste much time here. He had his mother to find, and a fallen star to track down, and…..

Wait a second.

His eyes darted about, his lips curling into a confused frown. He hadn’t had an opportunity to give it much thought yet, what with landing atop an already injured man, but just _how_ had he ended up here? What went wrong? He’d thought of his mother, but then the star had invaded his thoughts, and he’d ended up in this odd little place.

A rush of excitement seized him. Might this ‘odd little place’ hold his fallen star? He examined the area and nearly cheered. Yes! He’d landed in its impact crater!

“Excuse me, sir,” he sputtered, words tripping over one as he scrambled back to the man’s side. “This may sound strange, but have you seen a fallen star anywhere?”

The man glared at him, lips pressed together in a thin line. “Do you _jest_?”

“No, not at all! I get that it’s a weird question, but this star was streaking through the sky earlier, and this must have been where it fell. This is a crater!”

Sam leapt to his feet once more, racing to and fro and searching the ground for his star. What would a fallen star resemble, anyway? A heavy lump of rock? A bright patch of stardust? But no matter. He’d made it this far, and he would find it. He’d take it back home, and become the apprentice of the most legendary swordsmith who ever lived! And he would return to Eden and find his mother, take her home, and reunite their family.

“You are not from Eden, are you?” the man asked. The question sounded critical, but when Sam spun to face him, he only saw curiosity in his eyes.

He had trouble meeting his eyes, but finally nodded. “Is it _that_ obvious?”

The man’s lips quirked, adding just the slightest bit of warmth to his expression. “Indeed.” The smile faded, and he sighed. “You are correct. This is where the star fell. Or rather, up there is where a stray jewel struck it about the foot, causing it to fall from its home in the sky, when it intended to only do its duty and shine.” His eyes slid shut, and his shoulders slumped. “And here is where a flying man, not from this realm, collided with it.”

It took a long moment for his words to catch up to Sam.

“ _You’re_ the star?” he breathed. “You? But you’re a person!”

The man’s eyes crinkled in mild amusement. “Did you expect a glowing stone?”

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but ducked his head once more, his cheeks turning red. “Honestly, yes. Something to that effect, at least.” Then, after a beat, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’ve never met a star before.”

“I’ve never met a human before.”

When the reality of what lay before him truly sank in, Sam felt both elated and disappointed at the same time. He’d found his real-life star! But the star took the form of a flesh-and-blood man, and not some magical rock to smelt in a fire and hammer into a sword.

Well, okay, not precisely a man, but a creature nonetheless, with feelings, emotions, and thoughts of his own. And a creature in obvious, terrible pain. But still, a living person, and once the swordsmith heard the truth, he would dismiss Sam as a liar and never take him on as an apprentice.

“You grow troubled,” the star commented, his voice somewhat cautious. “What is the matter?”

“Nothing important, really,” he replied, but his voice fell flat. “I guess it’s a long story. I shouldn’t bother you with it.”

He studied the immediate area, and seeing nowhere else to go for the moment, sat down beside the star. The man wore only the thinnest garments, which made Sam wonder about the weather up in the sky. It must have been nice up there. In any case, Sam could tolerate the cold just fine, so he took off his thick coat and draped it around the star’s shoulders.

“Take this,” he said. “You’re shivering.” At the stunned expression on the star’s face, Sam glanced away quickly, his eyes settling on the rim of the large crater around them. “Is there somewhere I can take you? I don’t suppose you saw a town or village or anything nearby when you fell?”

The star’s astonishment only grew. “You would help me there?”

“Sure I would,” Sam replied. “I can’t very well leave you here. That’d be an awful thing to do.”

The star seemed frozen for a long moment. “I did see a village. Perhaps five miles east of here.”

Five miles. _Five miles_. While not exactly a distant trek, with an injured man in tow, it’d take a day or more. And Sam had only a week until the swordsmith’s deadline, and… well, not that it mattered anymore. Chuck wouldn’t want a flesh and blood creature, anyway. He wouldn’t even _believe_ it. He only wanted stone to craft into a weapon.

So, Sam had find help for the star, and then he would go find his mother.

“I am curious,” the star asked, his voice calm and soothing. Sam wondered if all stars sounded that way, as though their voices could sing the world entire to sleep. “You did not want to ‘bother’ me with your story, but I should like to hear it anyway.” After a short beat. “If you care to share it, of course.”

Sam frowned, and wondered how foolish the aspirations of a young man might sound to an ancient star. After a moment, he decided it didn’t matter. If the star wanted to mock him, well, it had lived a long time and probably had earned the right.

“So, there’s this swordsmith who travels outside of Eden,” Sam explained. “Over in my world, you see. He crafts weapons they say can even slay dragons and demons and all manner of fantastic monsters. I’ve been trying to convince him for years to take me on as his apprentice, but he won’t.”

The star nodded, and to his credit, managed not to appear as bored as he must be.

“So, he’s near Wall right now—Wall’s my hometown—doing some business with the local duke, and I was trying to convince him to take me on as his apprentice yet again when we saw you fall from the sky! He commented that he could make an amazing sword from a fallen star’s metal. I swore I would cross the wall and bring it back to him, so he could smelt it in his fire and make the blade of his dreams.”

Sam glanced away, and sighed. “But we thought you were a piece of rock. Not a person. Can’t make a sword out of you at all.”

The star nodded, his face expressionless. “I see.” His brow furrowed with some unknown thought. “I am sorry.”

“Nah,” Sam answered, shrugging. The cold, night air began to affect him, and he strained his jaw so he would not clatter his teeth. “Don’t apologize. You’re just you. I mean, if I had been right, you’d just be a rock, and you wouldn’t be alive at all.”

The star hummed, a soft noise of agreement. “I would slow your return home considerably if you assist me,” he said, “but… I am in great need of assistance from a good man.”

Sam chuckled. “Well, I don’t know about ‘good,’ but I’ll help you as much as I can. It’ll take us a while to get to the village, and I don’t have any supplies.”

His voice trailed off as an idea seized him. “Wait!” From his pocket, he retrieved the black candle. “Will this work? It got me here, so maybe it could get us to the village!” Then, after a moment, he felt his chest lurch. “Wait, could it take you back to the sky?”

The star stared at the candle as a starving man might stare at food. “Yes on both counts,” he answered, voice soft. “But it has but one use left.”

One use. Sam stared at the nub of candle in his hand, and his heart sank even more. If he gave it up, he wouldn’t find his mother with it. He couldn’t fly them to a safe place where the star could get help _and_ use it to send the star home. He had to choose. And Sam wanted to see his mother. And he really, _really_ didn’t want to trudge five miles in the cold mud carrying another man, just to reach a town he knew nothing about. And for what? To face everyone back home in defeat?

But his father had raised him on the principle that helping others came before helping oneself. This star had a clear need of assistance. If Sam’s petty, distracting thoughts had brought him here, then maybe he held some sort of duty to restore the star to the heavens. After all, hadn’t the star said a stray something-or-another had hit him and knocked him out of the sky? Who deserved that? And what else would the star do? Strap a saddle upon an eagle’s back and fly home?

He stared down at the candle one last time, and with a sigh, passed it to the star’s hand. “Here. You should go home. I can travel home on my own two feet. Unless you’ve got hidden wings, I don’t see how you’re going to get back up there.”

The star stared at the candle in his hand, then back to Sam, and then back at the candle, jaw agape at the gift. “Do you have any idea the manner of thing you’ve just given me? This is a Babylon Candle, and they are exceedingly rare. You’ll not easily find another.”

Sam shrugged. “I was supposed to use it to find my mother. I got distracted. It’s my fault. Anyway, you should use it. It’s yours now. Like I said, I can walk back. What are you going to do?”

The star again glanced down at the candle once more, his face flickering between conflicting emotions in the moonlight. After a long moment of silence, he gazed back up at Sam. Though he seemed a bit hesitant, his voice held a softness and confidence he hadn’t had before.

“You say your swordsmith wishes to make a weapon from a star?” he asked.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. It’s not possible, I know that now, but… well. We were mistaken.”

The star smiled at Sam for the first time, his lips warm and knowing. From his sleeve sprung a silver blade which reflected so much moonlight it seemed luminescent all on its own.

“This is my sword, gifted to my by my Father, the Moon. I am no warrior, so I have no use of it. For your kindness and gift of the candle, I shall accompany you home and make a gift of my sword to your swordsmith. I shall speak to him so he may know I am the star, and that you have succeeded in your endeavor to locate me. And upon completion, I will take your candle and return home. Is that acceptable?”

Sam blinked, his throat going dry. It sounded wonderful; too wonderful, in fact. But would the star play such a joke on him?

He could hardly find his voice to reply. “But I can’t carry you all the way home.”

“And you shall not have to,” he said. “A simple potion shall fix my ankle. The air of Eden is thick with all sorts of magic.”

Sam stared. “You’d do that for me?” And then, after a moment, “Wait, you had a sword all this time? And you didn’t attack me? I could have been a thief meaning you harm.”

The star nodded, the hint of a smile again warming his lips. “Indeed. But it is clear to me you are no thief.”

Sam’s cheeks felt hot, what with a star staring him down and all, and shifted on nerveless feet. “I’m Sam,” he blurted out. “That’s my name. I mean, my name is actually Samuel, but my father calls me Sam. And I think my mother does, too, but—.” He snapped his mouth shut, worried about his sudden rambling.

“I’m Sam,” he repeated, and forced himself to shut up.

“I am Gadreel,” the star replied, and his eyes held so much warmth they nearly seemed to glow. “It is pleasant to meet you, Sam… even if you did crash into me unannounced.”

Sam opened his mouth, trying desperately to fill the space with words, but he couldn’t find anything to say to that. “So, uh… should we go?


	3. Quite the Lucky Charm

“You must hurry, Adam,” the bishop cautioned, his voice hushed as he leaned over the altar. “Eden has known only wicked kings for a thousand years! You must find the royal ruby before your brothers!”

“I know, Bishop,” he replied, shaking his head.

Adam had only just become a man, and felt both too young and ill-suited for this game of political intrigue. In another life, he’d have lived in the lowlands with the farmers, planting the next crop. Instead of worrying about his own brothers killing him, he’d roll in the hay with his friends after a day of toiling in the sun.

And yet, no matter how he felt about it, he knew the truth of the bishop’s words. No others lived who might inherit the throne. Oh, how he’d welcome it if Gwen or Mary had hidden away male heirs somewhere! If only they had a just heart, then they could take the throne and remake the royalty.

But Adam’s lack of ambition had made him ideal for the role in ways Christian and Mark wouldn’t understand. Adam had no fantasies of supreme power, he knew the history of Eden well, and had an understanding of the people his brothers did not. The realm had not flourished under the reign of its wicked dynasty. The witches of lore had slumbered in seclusion, and though Adam knew not what might stir them again to life, he did not wish to find out. He certainly didn’t care to witness such an atrocity.

“Listen, young lord,” the Bishop pressed, “you’ll be the first benevolent king of Eden since the time of High King Michael. You must go forth and find the ruby. The land will prosper under your rule.”

They spoke in hushed whispers, as though the walls themselves could listen—and perhaps they did. One could never take too much care with older, wiser, and lethal princes afoot. Adam had never been as aware of their power as now, when he risked falling beneath it. He had to leave the palace and its illusion of safety to seek out the stone at all.

Despite his trepidation at becoming king, Adam had to try. He had the blood of the Eden nobility in his veins, even if they all called him a bastard. Now he had a chance to set things right, and only a fool could stand by and refuse to take it. He had to race against his brothers. He would not lift his blade against them if he didn’t have to, but he would defend himself… and more importantly, the kingdom.

“I shall set out as soon as my horse is ready,” he breathed.

“The temple coach is at your service, my lord,” the Bishop offered.

Adam thought on it, and shook his head. “No, it’s too conspicuous.” He glanced at the bishop’s leather pouch, and smiled. “Show me the runes. Which way shall I go?”

The bishop glanced about, as if searching for spies—and they undoubtedly hovered nearby—and tossed the runestones into the air. Twice more he repeated the action, a tiny smile growing on his lips. He leaned in close to Adam’s ear, and whispered so low the boy could hardly understand.

“East.”

Adam drew back, forcing a grin as a shiver meandered down his spine. The game never stopped, it seemed.

“Outstanding. I’ll go north,” he whispered, just loud enough for any spies to hear. “You’re sure?”

“The runes tell me so,” the bishop decreed, and the lie only showed in the faint creases of his eyes. His brothers wouldn’t fall for it, but at least they wouldn’t know which other direction to go until they consulted a soothsayer of their own.

Adam bounded away, dashing towards the stables. He had no time to waste. He needed to slip away from the palace before Mark and Christian knew of his departure. He had his trusted steed, and loyal friends—he doubted neither Mark nor Christian knew the joy of a true friend. Adam would rely on his skills of survival to make it by.

Softy, he spared a prayer for the future of Eden, allowing it to fly up to the Moon. His heart soared with a sudden hope he could not explain, a bubbling of joy from deep within. Though the notion seemed foolish, he felt as if the stars themselves smiled upon him. He could do this. He could.

As he rounded the corner, he tripped over something solid, cold, and quite bulky. He collided with the ground with a loud grunt. In fear, he scrambled back to his feet, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword. As he stared at the scene behind him, he saw Mark’s body, splayed in grisly fashion upon the marble floor. A golden goblet sat not far from his hand, and the stink of sour wine filled the air.

Poison. Prince Adam did not have to think hard on whom might have done this.

Now he raced only against Christian, but he knew his brother would stop at nothing to become king. A formidable and cunning opponent, indeed. Adam would need the blessing of any god who might bestow a blessing to keep his head upon his shoulders.

Adam rebounded from his shock, and sprinted down the hallway without another thought. He had to flee the castle now, both for his own safety and for the future of Eden. In the name of Michael, the First King of Eden, Adam vowed he would take Eden’s throne back for the good of all its people.

 

 

Abaddon rode through the countryside on a rather unassuming cart, pulled by two goats—one ginger, and one spotted and gray. The cart had been her own, but she’d obtained the goats by less than scrupulous means. But what matter? The crazy woman had no need of her elderly goat, and the goat had benefited from Abaddon’s ownership already. Why, she’d restored his energy and vigor! And what a favor she’d done the tawny, muddy-furred goat. He’d began as a miserable, poor farm boy, and now he had the honor of serving the Witch Queen.

It mattered not what they desired. These mortals served only to do the bidding of the immortals. The kings of Eden had long made them forget their place, but one day, she would subjugate them all again. Eden would belong to her, as it should have centuries ago.

If it hadn’t been for Michael, who came screaming down from Heaven on a mission from the Moon Himself, she would have realized this dream long ago. If only the star hadn’t led the first Eden nobles in a holy war against all the sisterhood, culling them until only a few remained. But Lucifer—her mentor, her former master—had infiltrated them, disguising himself so well even his own brother had not recognized him. Lucifer cautioned the coven to have patience when Michael became the first king, for no king could rule forever, not even an immortal star. The surviving witches hid so the sky might believe them defeated. So when the Moon drew his oldest son back into the sky, Lucifer twisted the human nobles left behind. He manipulated the dark power of the horsemen’s rings and the former Witch King’s ruby to corrupt their very souls. Forever after, the Eden kings held only darkness in their hearts, and how could they not? They wore the cursed spoils of their war about their necks their entire lives. Only one of pure heart could cleanse the pendant, and no king of Eden would ever fit such a bill.

Even more exciting, the stars themselves all believed the witches gone. Whenever they fell, they never expected a witch to hunt them.

What a cunning Witch King Lucifer had made. Without him, they never could have survived the war. Abaddon had been his loyal servant, but all masters must fall under the blade of their students in due time. If she had not slain him, she could not have taken her rightful place as the Witch Queen. After all, in her many years of studying magic and stars, she had far exceeded him. His heart had kept her and her sisters young for centuries, and unlike any other star she’d eaten, she had thanked her former mentor for his sacrifice each time she’d taken a bite of his heart.

But she would only tolerate one ruler of magic. The future would remember _her_ name: Abaddon, the _only_ Witch Queen.

As she rounded the corner, her eyes settled upon a rickety, yellow cart. If Abaddon had not known magic, had not heard and felt the thrum of it low in her bones miles ago, she would think the woman poking at the fire a simple merchant.

“How goes your day?” Abaddon called, approaching her.

The woman froze, her dark eyes peering out from unkempt black hair. She stood, holding her soot-smudged hands out before her. She seemed little more than a young woman desperately in need of a bath. Streaks of dirt painted her cheeks, and she smelled of foul, disgusting things.

“I am just a lowly flower merchant. I’ve nothing—.”

“Do shut up,” Abaddon clipped, tilting her head. “I know who and what you are, and I swear by the ordinances of the sisterhood to which we both belong that I mean you no harm this day. I wish only to share your meal.”

Abaddon restrained the urge to curl her lips at this lowly, pathetic _creature_. But she felt deep hunger, the likes of which she had not known in a century, and unless she wished to waste her magic, she had little choice but to make nice with this lesser witch.

The young witch’s face morphed from faux fear into a twisted grin, her eyes flashing as dark as the dirt beneath them for a bare instant. “Well, you can’t blame me. One can’t be too careful out and about here.”

She snapped dirty fingers, and a bluebird came fluttering into view from her cart. It transformed into a sweeping blue cloud of smoke, and from it trotted a blonde woman, her dress lined in deep blue. She moved with purpose, fetching a seat and setting it beside the fire. As she turned again towards the cart, the witch snapped her fingers, and the servant reverted to her bird form, perching upon a small post.

Abaddon observed this with some interest. It had a quaintness about it, she supposed, but it did not appeal to her. A mighty witch had no need to hide her servants. She sat down upon the stool, staring down at the roasting bird.

“So, shall it be heads or tails?” The dark-haired youth spoke with a polished voice, not at all similar to her ragged appearance. But then, this one had always been a pretentious mother hen, appealing to all sorts of lesser creatures as a mother, and the Witch Queen had always despised this.

“Heads,” Abaddon answered without hesitation. If given the choice, she always chose ‘heads’ over ‘tails.’ She felt no need to tempt the laws of probability.

“So, what brings you on the road today?” she asked. “It’s a lovely day for errands, is it not?”

Abaddon sank her teeth into the meat, suddenly ravenous as the juices dripped down her chin. Living in seclusion in her hidden gorge she’d not had anything so succulent or rich in a long time. She _needed_ more.

“I seek a fallen star,” she shared, a too-bright smile falling upon her lips. “She fell not far from here, though the runes are coy, just as they always are when it concerns stars. But when I find the star, I shall take my Moon Blade and cut out its heart while it still lives. And the glory of our youth shall be… restored.”

Abaddon’s voice trailed off, her fingertips ghosting across her lips as her brow furrowed in confusion. She had not intended to speak on the matter. Why would she share the knowledge of a star with anyone, especially another witch?

“A fallen star? Truly? Perhaps the best news for our sisterhood in ages.” She reached up and touched her hair, a fingertip stroking imaginary lines upon her forehead. As if the youthful witch needed years! The vanity…

Abaddon froze, lowering her nose to the meat and sniffing. Salty. Spicy. And _citrus_. She growled, feral, tossing the plate to the rocks and shattering it. “Limbus grass! How dare you steal truth from my lips!”

The young witch only cackled, staring at her.

“Do you have any idea what a mistake you’ve made, Eve?”

The smile faded. “How do you know my name…?”

Abaddon hissed, revealing her true form beneath her vibrant skin. Her heart emitted darkness as thick as smoke, conjuring nightmares of demonic realms. “Gaze upon me again.”

Eve peered closer, and then recoiled, her face gone pale. Stricken, she fell to her knees, shaking with terror. “I won’t seek the star, Your Dark Majesty. I swear it.”

Abaddon couldn’t take the risk, not with this youthful thing who excelled at maintaining her appearance over the centuries. No, Eve posed far too much danger—not in outright power, not yet, but she had pull in the more disgusting corners of Eden. She could trick people and monsters, and recruit them into finding her star. She had the most cunning silvertongue of all the witches of Eden, perhaps. No doubt she had snatched her human servant by trickery, too.

“Seek all you wish,” she thundered, the clouds swirling in the sky above. She summoned power she had not called upon in centuries, and basked in the glory of it as it rippled through her veins. “You shall not see the star, touch it, smell it, or hear it. You will not perceive it, even if it stands before you.”

The crackle of lightning snapped behind them, and Abaddon felt _alive_. It had been so long since she’d used _real_ magic, powerful and mighty, and…

She watched as her youthful, unblemished hand suddenly aged decades within a single second.

She huffed in irritation, and turned her gaze back upon the witch.

“Pray we never cross paths again, Eve.”

She stalked towards her cart. Her fair maiden, the fallen star, awaited.

 

 

Stars, as it turned out, weighed quite a lot. If Sam had ever taken the time to think of a star as a person—and he hadn’t—but if he _had_ , he would have envisioned a petite, fair maiden. Bright and blinding, but most importantly, lightweight. After all, if stars weighed so much, however did they stay up in the sky?

But here he marched, half-hobbling across the grassy forest floor with a star draped across his back, dragging him inch by dreadful inch towards the closest town. With the star clinging to his shoulders, and Sam’s hands gripping his legs, their progress had slowed. Gadreel had to weigh twice what a human his size would—and Sam would know, because stood only a scant inch or two taller than Gadreel, and he _couldn’t_ weigh this much.

Then again, the star had a broken ankle, and so they had no other option but for Sam to carry him. Gadreel couldn’t walk, and while Sam knew a few things about minor injuries, he was no doctor. Just a silly stable boy, dreaming of becoming something more. At least all those long, long days doing hard labor in the stables had been for something. Perhaps he couldn’t fix Gadreel’s ankle or treat his other wounds, but he could carry him a while.

He tried not to share his thoughts aloud, and avoided complaining. Gadreel probably had better things to do than listen to Sam whine about his boring life. And at this rate they would never return to Wall on time, not unless a miracle happened.

But Sam couldn’t drag him the entire way, nor could he just leave him. What if a monster wandered by? He hadn’t seen any, but what if they lurked in the shadows? He recalled the strange creatures his father destroyed in Wall, and wondered again if they had come from Eden.

“Hold on,” he gruffed, hauling Gadreel higher on his back to traverse up and over a tree trunk (asking the star to navigate around it would have tortured his injured foot, so Sam chose to endure the strain and lift him). The star clung to him, but the day had worn on his strength. His ability to hold onto Sam’s shoulders had weakened, and so the human had resorted to gripping the star even tighter. But he had grown tired from the work, and he only just barely kept the star perched upon his back. At this rate, Sam knew he could not continue much longer.

“You’ve got to hold on, too,” he pleaded between steps, finally maneuvering them up and over the stump. He lowered the star back to his one functional leg, and noted the deep lines of exhaustion creasing his face. “I can’t carry you the whole way, Gadreel.”

“Though you are certainly trying,” the star commented, short of breath, his head turned downwards. “You are a strong man, Sam. Without you, I would never have gotten this far.”

He hobbled forward one step, then two, and made an agonized noise.

“I cannot go any further,” Gadreel muttered, all but collapsing against Sam. “Forgive me. I am never up this late, and have never experienced such hard travel.”

Sam frowned, his eyes searching the far distance of the dirt path until it vanished between thick tree branches. The village couldn’t be away. Could he travel it alone and make it back in a reasonable time? He considered it, and nodded to himself. It seemed the only choice at this point.

“Come on, let’s get you over here,” he grunted, half-dragging the oversized star to a nearby tree with a hollowed-out trunk. Gadreel followed without protest, leaning against him and attempting to use his uninjured leg, but Sam could clearly see the star’s pain. He helped him down into a pile of soft moss, and when the star sat upon the ground, catching his breath, Sam noticed him shivering. He removed his coat, and draped it around the star’s shoulders.

With Gadreel resting, Sam dropped to his hands and knees to determine the safety of the potential sanctuary. Satisfied the hollow tree’s core hid no snakes or vermin, he motioned for Gadreel to crawl inside. With Sam’s help, the star curled up inside the tree trunk.

Sam felt a faint smile warm his lips. On first glance, Gadreel seemed not unlike an adult playing a game of hide and seek.

His second glance, however, had him entirely focused upon the star’s eyes.

The sight took his breath away, and he had no idea how he’d missed the sight before. He had eyes greener than anything he’d ever seen, like the explosion of life in the spring after a bleak winter. Also, his eyes held a light about them, a glimmering one could only see when close.

“Sam…?” Gadreel breathed, hesitant.

He jerked backwards, only just realizing his inappropriate proximity to the star.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam stammered, his cheeks burning. “I got distracted by your eyes. When I was so close, I noticed they seem so different. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

A faint smile quirked the star’s lips. “No apology is necessary. I am not offended.” He tugged the coat more firmly against his body. “The children of the Moon possess moondust in our eyes. If a good soul peers closely, they shall see the specks within.”

He had no idea what to say. He felt paralyzed, staring in awe at the strangeness of his eyes. Once he’d noticed the moondust, it seemed he could no longer see Gadreel’s eyes without the shimmer, even at a distance.

“Wow,” he finally managed, his voice dry. “Gadreel, your eyes are amazing! I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Gadreel’s gaze wavered, his head ducking to the side. His cheeks seemed to redden under Sam’s scrutiny, but it likely came from the chilled air.

“What shall we do now?” Gadreel asked, his voice halting and… shy? Nah, couldn’t be.

“So, get this. I think we’re over halfway to the village,” Sam explained, winded from hauling the oversized star. “Maybe two miles away. Normally I’d chart our course using a bright star you can see in the early day, but either you can’t see it here in Eden, or it’s too hazy or something—.”

Gadreel sighed, slumping against the inner wall of the tree trunk. He seemed the very image of dejection.

“My apologies. I am the star you seek.”

Sam froze, his mind short-circuiting as realization dawned upon him.

“ _You’re_ the Guardian Star?” he sputtered. “You’re the brightest star in Wall’s sky!”

He refused to meet Sam’s eyes. “No longer.”

Sam flinched, and wanted to smack himself. He hadn’t meant to hurt the star’s feelings, or to remind him of how bleak things seemed.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Gadreel gazed up at him, tired and exhausted. But even injured and tucked away in the hollowed-out tree trunk, he had a bright, warm presence about him. “It is all right, Sam. You are new here. I appreciate your help.”

Sam felt his cheeks heating, and turned his head away before the star could see.

The reaction took him by surprise. Why did he blush? Did stars just have such an effect on humans? And why did Sam even waste his time worrying with such a thing?

“Well, you’ll be in the sky again soon,” Sam told him, trying his best not to stammer. “Anyway, I’ll go as fast as I can and get food and water for you, and try to find a doctor. Or one of those… uh… potions, you said?”

“A tonic will do well,” Gadreel offered. “They should be plentiful. And I do not require food.”

“You need to eat.”

“Stars require neither food nor water.”

“Oh.” Sam pondered it for a moment, and decided he’d only give himself a headache if he thought too hard about how such a thing might work. “Okay then. I’ll run and get the tonic, and I’ll run back.”

“Sam,” Gadreel protested, his voice cautionary. “You must rest yourself.”

He sighed. “No time for rest now. I’ll do it when I get back.” He grasped for his belt, putting free a tiny knife. He offered it to Gadreel. “For protection?”

“I have a blade,” the star reminded him, the faint quirk of a smile on his lips.

“Oh. Right.”

Sam felt kind of ridiculous. He’d not slept, and hiked all day across hard terrain with a star on his back, and now he felt dumb to top it all off. Couldn’t he find something a bit more graceful to say? After all, before him sat a real, breathing star, and if Sam felt a flush creeping across his cheeks, it didn’t mean anything. Sam just happened to think Gadreel looked kind of beautiful. All stars probably seemed beautiful.

Sam shook his head. He couldn’t afford to think this way. He had to find his mother and go home, and hopefully begin his life as the swordsmith’s apprentice. And Gadreel lived in Heaven, and though he spoke and moved as a human, he had far greater origins. Sam had stared up at stars during the dark nights, admiring their light, and sometimes used them to navigate. He couldn’t afford to think of a star in… other ways. Admiring ways.

He had spent the day hauling the star around, chatting with him about many things to pass the time. So maybe he felt just a bit besotted with Gadreel.

Yes, a terrible idea.

“If you don’t want me to leave you alone, I won’t,” Sam said, kneeling beside the hollow tree. “We’ll figure it out. It’ll be night by the time I get back, and there are those clouds. It smells like it might rain.”

Gadreel seemed far from terrified, which made Sam feel better about the entire affair.

“I am well, Sam Winchester. Do not fear for my sake. There are forces in Eden which serve the Moon and His children. I have more friends here than you realize.”

Sam gave him a weak smile. “Oh, well… good.”

Gadreel’s expression slowly morphed to one of confusion. “How precisely does one ‘smell’ the rain? Water is odorless. It has no scent.”

Sam gestured vaguely with one hand. “Well, I mean, the earth smells a certain way just before a storm.” He paused, frustrated he couldn’t give Gadreel a better explanation. “I don’t know how it works, only that it does.”

This seemed to satisfy Gadreel, who nodded, burrowing down into Sam’s thick coat. “I see. Thank you.”

“And speaking of the rain,” he continued, sitting back on his heels to stare up into the sky, just visible between gaps in the trees. “I need to hurry. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

The star nodded, and shrank back into his burrow. Sam hoped those ‘friends’ he’d mentioned lurked nearby, just in case.

 

 

In hindsight, leaving Gadreel alone had been a terrible mistake, one Sam realized only when he finally sighted the village. The skies began to churn with thick, dark clouds, and the first faint rumble of thunder sounded in the far-off distance. But storms moved swiftly, and it wouldn't remain distant for long.

He'd already come too far to turn back, as he would never beat the storm, so instead he raced towards the village. He could outrun the worst of it there, at least.

As Sam stumbled into town, the street merchants darted about, closing up shop and preparing to take cover. He’d almost arrived too late trade for food and water, for even if the star didn’t need sustenance, Sam did.

He had a challenging time tracking down the potions master in the maze-like pathways of the market. Sam had learned he worked indoors, but could find no sign of his shop. After a dozen conflicting directions, he found his way inside of a dusty old shop that seemed as though it hadn't been used in years.

Another customer stood inside, tapping her foot upon the wooden floor. She stood tall and imposing, with bright red hair more stunning than any he'd ever seen before. Sam had thought the village and all around it quite bland, both in flavor and color. But this woman? She seemed so vibrant. So _different_.

"Finally. I've been waiting forever," she barked, spinning on her heels. "I'm in need of a Babylon Candle. A pair of blood-soaked slippers will work as well."

Sam blinked at her, his mouth opening and closing a moment. "I don't work here," he said. "I'm looking for the shop owner, too."

She huffed, turning away from him, and Sam felt the temperature of the room actually decrease.

"Of course. Because why should a potions master ever man his shop?" She turned back to Sam, one graceful eyebrow arched. "Tell me, boy, does this happen often? Can I expect him to return in a timely manner?"

"I don't know. I hope so." At her exasperated sigh, Sam held up his hands. "I'm just visiting. My friend, he broke his ankle and couldn't walk here. I just need a tonic."

She hummed under her breath, her expression fading to disinterest... at least until something on Sam caught her eye. She turned to face him, and he nearly stumbled backwards at the very atmosphere about her. He could feel power flowing from her in waves, dark and cold and frightening. She’d draped herself in exquisite lace and silk blacker than the night, and appeared as elegant as a royal.

His father had mentioned witches before, but Sam hadn’t pondered the issue until he’d found himself face to face with this woman. Had he stumbled upon a witch now? He didn't dare ask the question aloud.

"Snowdrop," she murmured, one slender hand reaching out to hover near the flower.

Her entire demeanor towards Sam changed, morphing from cold detachment to sugary warmth. Sam frowned. Did she think him a fool? He’d seen this a hundred times before, whenever people wanted something out of him. Perhaps more hours in the stable, or a ‘request’ for him to take on a particularly disgusting task. No, she hadn’t turned polite for the heck of it. She wanted something.

"What a lovely charm. Would you consider parting with it?"

So she wanted his mother's flower.

"I'm sorry, but I can't. It was my mother's, and it's all I have of her."

She didn't bat an eye. "I'll trade you fairly, boy. Say... an elixir for your snowdrop?" She reached into her lacy satchel (which appeared far too delicate to support anything substantial), and pulled free a bottle which held a glowing light within.

"I see you don't deal in magic," she said. "A tonic might mend your friend's broken bone, but it shall be sore. Tender. Painful to touch. He'll always have pain from it. But an elixir? It will do more than heal your friend. It shall heal anything which ails him, from broken bones to the worst of his miseries. He'll be in perfect health for years. And the best part..."

She uncorked the bottle, bringing it close to Sam's nose. His mind drifted, just for a moment, as the scent of cinnamon and sweet vanilla oil overtook him. The elixir smelled better than the best things one could ever bake.

The medicine affected him so powerfully the room even spun for several seconds. He had to blink away the fuzziness in his mind. If only a whiff of it could intoxicate him for a few seconds, how drunk might he become if he consumed it?

"The best part," she continued, "is he'll only need a sip. You can keep the other sip for yourself. Isn't years of superior health worth a sentimental old flower?"

Sam frowned, staring at the glowing bottle. It seemed an excellent trade, he had to admit. He felt terribly guilty about having to strand Gadreel out in the woods, and what if this elixir might make him strong enough to withstand the travel back to Wall? And more, what if it helped him in ways Sam couldn't even imagine? Maybe stars got sick with things, too. And it couldn't hurt to have some of the medicine himself. He didn't feel sick, not yet, but it might hold off sickness for years.

But the snowdrop blossom felt warm against his chest, warm even through the layers of clothing, and it felt like a warning. While the air about the woman seemed thick and heavy with power, it seemed unable to affect him. If he tried, if he thought about it hard enough, he could feel a cloud of energy around him, like a shield.

For luck? Nothing could be so simple, not with a witch’s interest.

"I can't," he blurted out. "I'm sorry."

She withered, though it seemed mostly for show. "Too bad." She corked the bottle and stored it away in her lace satchel. "Is it not enough for your snowdrop? Here, I'll offer you a potion of longing to go with it."

Sam didn't know what a 'potion of longing' might do, but he had a few guesses and really didn't want to find out. "I just want to hold onto it. It's worth a lot to me."

A sly smile warmed her lips moments later, and he thought she might laugh. "How wise of you, boy. Your charm is both rare and powerful."

"Is that why you want it?" he asked, and nearly kicked himself. It did seem a bright idea to upset the scary lady.

She hummed in agreement. "I need a token of good luck. I'm hunting, and my fair maiden alludes me and my runes."

He hesitated. "Are you a potions master yourself? Like the owner of this shop?"

She exhaled, a sharp noise of annoyance. "Boy, I am Abaddon, the Witch Queen. That flower is the only reason you're not already dust on the floor. I do suggest you cease annoying me, or I shall find a way to circumvent its protection." She paused long enough to curl her lips, her eyes narrowing. “You’ve already denied me something I want.”

Sam clamped his mouth shut. "Oh. I'm terribly sorry for bothering you. Your Majesty."

What did one say to a witch queen? Sorry? Goodbye? Please don't kill me? He had turned down her offer of a trade, so he figured he should probably make himself as quiet and unnoticed as possible as they both waited for the potions master. Sam felt sorry for the 'fair maiden' she chased after. He couldn't imagine what terrible thing an evil witch queen would want with her.

As they stood quietly, Abaddon retrieved a leather pouch at her side, removing glossy chips inscribed with dark runes. She tossed them in the air just as the potions master shuffled into the door.

For a moment, Sam could only stare. The elderly man stood at least eight feet tall, and had long, pointed ears which protruded from his elegant, silver hair. Could this be an elf? Sam had seen paintings of elves in storybooks, but had never once dreamed them real.

Abaddon paid the elvish shopkeeper no heed, focusing instead upon the runes in her hand. While she inspected them, she let loose a squeal of delight.

"Ah, it seems your snowdrop has conferred luck upon me all the same!" she exclaimed. "My hunted maiden is but two miles from here!"

With a wide smile, she turned to the potions master, elated. "Do tell me you have a Babylon Candle."

"I'm sorry, Your Dark Majesty," he responded, and Sam didn't miss the thread of fear in his voice. "I haven't seen one of those in years."

She rolled her eyes, and shrugged. "Ah, no matter. I'll be on my way." She turned and strolled out the door, both men watching her pensively.

Sam swallowed around a lump in his throat, and turned to the man. "Hi. Um, my friend has a broken ankle. I need to trade for a tonic."

The elf, his eyes not leaving the witch's retreating form, reached underneath his table and retrieved a glass bottle. It glowed with a faint, blue-white shimmer. "Here, have a potion instead. On the house."

Sam blinked. "Free? But why—."

"I'm not often one to thank young men for philandering about in my shop," the potions master murmured, "but I'll make an exception for you. You and your flower probably just saved my life."

"This flower?" Sam asked. "Why? Can't she hurt us?"

"She can't use her magic on anyone who's wearing snowdrop," he answered. "No witch can. But the luck extends to help those around it, too. And lucky for us, she seems right well pleased she's found her mark.” He sighed. “From the looks of it, she's hunting a star."

Sam’s froze. "What did you say?"

"A star," he repeated. "One fell not far from here last night. Shook our walls and rattled our windows, it did. I’ve lived five hundred years, and I’ve borne witness to three fallen stars in those centuries. And now, a fourth star has fallen.” He sighed. “It always happens the same way, with greedy witches piling in to find the poor girl. They did it eighty years ago when the last one fell. This time, the Witch Queen got here first. She often does."

Poor girl? Maiden? But Gadreel was a man, not a ‘fair maiden.’

Wait a minute...

_Oh no._ Sam’s stomach lurched, as though he’d swallowed a heavy stone of dread. Did Abaddon seek Gadreel? Had Sam's snowdrop flower spoiled her search efforts? Had the luck it possessed extended to Gadreel, shielding his location from from a horde of witches?

And Sam had left him all alone, hidden in a hollow tree trunk, where he rode out a vicious storm without the one thing which had protected him from the evil witches.

"And just what does a witch want with a star?" Sam asked, his voice wavering.

"Its heart, of course," the potions master answered, as though it were the most obvious answer in the world. At Sam's blank expression, he continued. "You know, they cut them out and eat them. Eating the whole heart of a star grants immortality. Just a bite will erase all the ravages of old age.” He sighed. “Stars never last long here in Eden."

Sam blinked. And blinked again.

She wanted to cut Gadreel's heart out and _eat it_. For immortality. She wanted to _murder_ him.

He bolted so fast the rug shot out from under him, plastering him nearly face-first on the wooden floor. He scrambled back to his feet, muttering apologies, and only at the last second remembered he never got the potion. He lunged for it, grabbing it with a muttered 'thank you', and took off running.

The Witch Queen had vanished, as Sam could not see her in any direction. What if she knew somehow, and followed him? But he could neither leave Gadreel alone to face his fate, either. If people cut out other creature’s hearts and ate them, then he quite decided he didn’t like Eden one bit.

He sprinted through the mud and out of the village, back towards the forest from which he came. Bounded by a tiny creek and lush, green fields, he hoped the initial leg of his return trip would give him no trouble. But then the creek flowed swiftly, the water standing higher than before. But Sam could still leap the distance, right?

He regretted it the moment he tried. Not only had he sorely misjudged the width of the creek, but the muddy bank gave way when the balls of his feet managed to balance upon the edge, depositing him in the rapid, flooded stream.

 

 

The storm had become more and more fierce as the hours wore on. Gadreel huddled underneath Sam's coat, desperate for any warmth he could find. The water began to pool underneath him, chilling his legs and causing his ankle to ache worse, but the fallen star could do nothing to combat it.

Sam would return soon. Gadreel had always thought he’d feel weary of humans, but Sam had put him at ease in a way he hadn’t thought possible around a human.

He’d promised to return him to the sky, and his Babylon Candle certainly held the power to do so. Still, Gadreel could not help but worry, for aside from Michael, the warrior sent to Eden on a mission from the Moon Himself, no fallen star had ever returned to the sky.

The Star of Thursday had vanished a century ago, then the Star of Wisdom had gone to Eden to search for him twenty years later. No star had sighted either since, despite tireless searching. And in the many centuries and millennia before, other stars had fallen to Eden, all lost and rumored to have fallen victim to the barbarism of mankind. But if any of his brothers or sisters had observed a fallen star or knew what became of it beyond the fearful rumors, they had never spoken of it.

Perhaps Gadreel would become another name among the lost, and the sky would never know what became of him.

But Sam wouldn't let such a terrible thing happen, he thought.

Gadreel wondered what kinds of things may have shaped a young Sam, what might have led him here so they might meet. Gadreel had been watching the wicked King of Eden take his final breaths in the moments before he fell, not searching for ambitious stable boys seeking to become master artisans.

He scoured his memory, wondering if he’d ever set eyes upon Sam in his time in the sky, but he could remember nothing of the young man. He obviously had spent time gazing upon the star, perhaps in admiration, and had known Gadreel’s position in the sky with only the most scant of clues. But from Gadreel’s position, he’d had difficulty observing the land beyond the wall which divided Earth from Eden. So he’d not tried as hard as he should have.... a mistake, he knew now. For if he had searched harder, perhaps he might have seen Sam, and would know more of his life. Did he have family? Did he have a doting mother, a caring father? Did he have a fine, lovely woman awaiting his return?

_That_ thought made him feel rather sour, and he decided to think no more on it.

A branch snapped in the clearing, and Gadreel stirred from his endless musing with no small rush of fear. "Sam? Is it you?"

The noise continued, and the star felt his heart quicken in his chest. "I do not find this amusing, Sam."

Of course, he didn't think Sam would do this to him. He murmured a quick prayer to his Father, hopeful no foul manner of thing had found him.

A long, glittering line became visible, bright and pure and white, and as it rounded the tree, Gadreel realized he gazed upon the horn of a unicorn. He breathed a sigh of relief, for unicorns had pure hearts, and did the bidding of the Moon. It had come to save him. Perhaps his Father had heard him after all.

Gadreel did not wish to leave Sam behind, but with the water gathering quickly around him, he had little choice. Sam wore the holy charm of luck, so they would find one another again with ease as soon as this flood passed.

The unicorn trotted to the star, dropping to its knees before Gadreel. He crawled out of the hole and lumbered atop it, clinging as it stood.

Step by step, it began to carry him to safety.

 

 

Abaddon frowned as she inspected the empty crossroad. The runes had led her here, but what of her star? A few weary, pathetic travelers made their rounds miles away, but no star had come here. And worse, now the runes only told her gibberish.

Oh, if only she could have taken the snowdrop from the boy! But the charm itself had prevented it.

She held out her hand, rubbing a dark, onyx gem adorning an iron ring about her forefinger.

"Abaddon," she heard Ruby's voice, "using the ring drains your power."

"I know," she hissed. Of course she knew. How dare they remind _her_. "But I need information."

"Use the runes!" Meg argued.

"I did! They led me here, and now they tell me only nonsense. No one is here."

Meg hummed, and Abaddon listened the the screeching of a beast as Meg sacrificed it. It’s final cry echoed in her ears.

"I see. It's because the star is coming to you!"

Abaddon quirked her eyebrow. The burst of luck from her earlier proximity to the snowdrop had benefited her.

"And sister, the star we seek is a man, not a maiden."

How fascinating. Abaddon had never seen a male star before. But no matter. She would kill it all the same.

“He’s cold and hungry, and hurt," Ruby's voice crackled through the magical connection. "Set a trap for him, so he might begin to glow anew. And hurry! You are not the only one who seeks the star!"

"Who else seeks it?" Abaddon snapped. This star belonged to _her_. No one else would have it.

"One unremarkable human boy, who is of no danger. But a set of men with a strange aura also roam the area, searching for him. Beware of them. I've not seen their sort before."

"Witches?" she asked.

"No." Meg's voice, typically sly and light, had turned grave. "Hurry, sister."

Abaddon touched the onyx of her ring again, and turned towards the empty crossroad, the wheels of her mind turning. Hmm... perhaps it would make a lovely place for a inn? A place where one could get warm by the fire, and have a delicious hot meal?

With a cackle, she began her work.

 

 

The storm seemed sent by the devils of the four winds themselves. Adam's horse whined as it tried to navigate through the miserable downpour, but nothing could quite prepare either of them for the miserable path ahead. Cold and pelting rain, not unlike hail, troubled them for hours.

If the young prince didn't know better, he'd think his brother Christian had somehow summoned it to slow his progress. But he'd have to get close to a witch, and no Prince of Eden would ever willingly seal themselves in a room with a witch.

The bishop had long ago taught Adam how to make simple readings from runestones, and so, he had imparted his runes upon the young prince for his journey. Many soothsayers and priests would no doubt devote their loyalty to Christian, and so Adam could not risk such a traitor leading him astray.

The runes told him the royal ruby resided nearby, and if he searched diligently for it, perhaps he could find it before the night passed. So he pressed on, following the dirt road leading into the dark forest ahead. The sight of a tiny inn just beyond the border of the forest made him ache for the warmth and shelter it would provide, for he felt tired and hungry, and wished for nothing more than to stop. But unless the storm worsened, he had to press on into the woods.

The trees provided limited shelter from the rain, even if the water pooled in dips and gullies. But the temperature dropped even more, causing Adam to shiver beneath his coat. But he steeled himself, and continued on. The runes would not lie.

He arrived at a fork in the road, one leading east, and the other straight ahead. He regarded it with a frown, and decided to consult his runes.

 

 

Sam excelled at swimming. At one point in time, he had prided himself on his skill. But this rushing river had become too much, and he had tired in his attempt to fight his way across.

But he could not give into the water, for he had to get out. He had to find a way back to Gadreel and save him from the witch! He'd _give_ the flower to the star, if it would only keep him safe.

He caught glimpses of the stars between gaps in the storm as he would occasionally surface, and in his oxygen-deprived delirium, began to pray to the Moon. His father had said the people of Eden thought of the Moon as a god, right?

_Help me find him_ , he begged. _Help me save Gadreel. Please. I can do it. Please..._

He had no idea how much time passed, but all at once he awakened upon a muddy shore, the rain pounding all around him as he gagged on a lungful of water. His chest heaved with the force of his coughing, his eyes bleary and straining in the darkness. To his great surprise, he could just make out the form of a man crouched over him.

"You nearly drowned there, kid," his gruff voice informed him. "Cas 'n I pulled you from the water just in time." He leaned back, arms crossed. "The hell is wrong with you? Why’re you trying to take a swim during a flood?"

He had to blink water from his eyes just to examine the man before him. He stood solid and strong in the moonlight, with short, sandy hair and bright green eyes. He’d narrowed his eyes at Sam, clearly expecting an answer.

Sam sat up, shielding his eyes from the rain. Another man crouched beside him, all dark hair and too-blue eyes, seeming to reflect the scant moonlight itself. He rested a hand on Sam’s back, soothing and gentle in the midst of the storm.

"Be careful," he told Sam, voice gravelly. "Your body is recovering from the experience."

Sam glanced between the two men, and wondered if they had arrived as an answer to his prayer.

"Thank the Moon," he breathed, and almost didn’t notice how the pair of men tensed. "I need help. I need _your_ help." His voice broke off into another string of violent coughs as he tried to expel the remnants of water in his lungs.

"Yeah, I can see that," the first man gruffed.

"No, you don't understand," Sam choked, straining to get the words out. "There's this witch nearby, and she's going to kill my friend. I have to get to him before she finds him!"

All at once, he remembered the snowdrop and began to paw for it in his jacket pocket. It remained precisely where he’d left it, as though he'd not just taken a wash in the water. Thank the Moon.

The men glanced at one another for a long moment, and Sam felt a deep thread of suspicion low in his belly. Could he trust these men? What did they know?

"Tell us more about this witch," the dark-haired man asked.

"Her name is Abaddon," Sam responded. "She called herself the Witch Queen."

When the two men shared another silent glance, Sam tapped his fingers on his legs in impatience. He couldn’t dally here. He needed to go.

"Look, I'm from beyond the wall. I don't exactly know what's going on here, but my friend is hurt, and if she finds him, he can't even run away. I've got to get across this flooded stream and get back to the forest to help him."

The man on his feet pointed over Sam’s shoulder. “Looks like you made it across. The forest is just over there."

Sam spun so quickly he nearly face-planted into the mud. Indeed, the two men had fetched him out of the flooded stream and deposited him on the correct side of the water. He scrambled to his feet, only to wobble as his head spun.

"Oh! Thank you! Thank you." He spun in the direction of the forest, but in the darkness, couldn’t quite see the entire thing. But he could make out the posts of the road in the distance, and with glee realized it’d been the same road he’d taken before.

"What's your name, kid?" the taller man asked.

"Sam," he answered, but his mind already had began to retrace his prior steps, charing out a course back to Gadreel.

“I’m Dean,” he replied.

But Sam’s attention remained on his star, and he knew he couldn’t afford any more delays. "Please, I'll pay you back somehow, but I desperately need help. I have to go find my friend!"

"We'll help you," the dark-haired man responded, which prompted an irritated "Cas!" from the taller man.

Ignoring Dean’s protest, he took a step forward and extended his hand. "I am Castiel, though Dean usually refers to me as Cas. We are also searching for a lost brother in this area. If you will help us, we shall help you."

Sam took his proffered hand and nodded, but he felt jittery, the knowledge the forest stood nearby making him tremble with anticipation. But sure, the deal sounded reasonable. "Cas. Dean. Nice to meet you. Um, so forest?"

“Hold up, hotshot,” Dean broke in. “You said the Witch Queen was after your friend? Why?”

Sam felt his blood run cold. Knowing what he knew now, he couldn’t trust them with such important information. At least, not until he knew them better. Maybe even never.

“She wants something he has.” He frowned. “But he didn’t do anything wrong, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No one is accusing anyone of anything,” Dean answered. “But you’ve got to know Abaddon’s no normal witch.”

Sam didn’t know anything about witches, except what he’d learned from his one chance meeting with Abaddon. And he’d learned enough to know he never wanted to meet another, if he could help it.

“Listen, time is running out! The people we’re both searching for could be drowning” he called, his voice straining over the thunder. He pointed to the path some distance away, leading into the forest. “I’m sure I came out that way. I know I can retrace my steps and find him. If we work together, maybe we can find both of our missing friends.”

He had to find Gadreel. He had to get to him now.

Dean gestured towards the hazy cloud of fog which enveloped the forest. "We're right behind you."


	4. Co-Inn-cidence?

“He has a bright soul about him,” Gadreel murmured to the unicorn, balancing himself upon its back. “Perhaps he offered me his Babylon Candle in ignorance of its true worth, but I do not believe he would go back on his word.”

The noble creature said nothing as it ferried him clear of the woods.Without a canopy of trees to shield them, the rain pelted them anew, stinging upon the star’s skin. Gadreel shivered, drawing the soaked coat around him once more.

“I wonder if becoming a master artisan is what he truly desires,” Gadreel continued. The unicorn could not precisely answer, but the star knew the creature understood his every word. “Or if perhaps he aspires to a richer life, and sees this swordsmith as his only escape.”

The unicorn did not respond. The rain and thunder crowded out all other sounds.

“I hope I might help him achieve what he desires,” the star mused, sighing. “He shall put me back in the sky, so I am grateful. The loss of my blade will not trouble me. I do not need it.”

In the distance, where two paths met at a well-trodden crossroad, stood a strange little inn. Light danced about in the windows, and thick, gray smoke billowed out of a stone chimney. The thought of warmth, of getting dry and warming himself by a fire, made Gadreel’s entire being long for shelter.

“Let us stop here,” he whispered to the unicorn, and it dutifully trotted to the door.

He slid down from its back, limping to the heavy, wooden door. He’d just lifted his hand to knock when the door swung open, revealing a beautiful, red-headed innkeeper standing inside. She stared at him wide-eyed, her eyes sweeping head to toe. For once, under the scrutiny of her slack-jawed inspection, Gadreel felt rather self-conscious. His state of appearance was rather poor at the moment, after all.

“Oh, goodness me!” she exclaimed, clasping a warm hand upon his shoulder. “You’ll catch your death of cold out there! Come inside at once!”

Gadreel glanced back at the unicorn, waiting patiently in the mud.

"My husband will take your horse into the stable," she added. "He'll have a warm bed of hay, and we'll even throw in a sugar cube."

Gadreel didn’t know if a noble unicorn would eat sugar cubes. He didn’t quite know what a sugar cube was and why it might appeal to a horse, but it sounded far more pleasant for the unicorn than standing all alone in the rain. 

"Please take care of him," Gadreel requested. "He's traveled a long way."

Her smile unnerved him—but only for the barest instant. He blinked, and again saw only the face of an innkeeper's wife. How strange.

"Come in, darling, come in," she repeated, and he allowed her to usher him inside. "Oh, you poor dear. You're soaked to the bone. My husband should have something which might fit you." She turned towards the counter. "Billy! Take this gentleman's horse to the stables."

The man made a strange noise, his face scrunched as though concentrating with great effort. Abruptly, he lept onto the counter, causing Gadreel to flinch.

The woman covered her face with a hand, a noise of displeasure slipping from her lips.

"Is such behavior typical?" Gadreel asked, staring as he trotted away.

"He had a run-in with a witch," she explained. "Never been the same since."

Gadreel felt a pang of sympathy. "I have heard they are quite fearsome."

She grinned broadly. "Oh, no need to worry. You're in good hands here."

 

 

“So, which road did you take?” Dean asked.

Sam frowned, observing the fork in the road with growing dread. He didn’t remember this at all. He’d only noticed one path leading from the forest. Had he been in so much of a hurry he’d completely missed the other road?

“The left one,” he offered, straining to shout above the din of the storm. “I think?”

Dean shook his head, glancing between the two paths. “So you don’t know.”

Sam groaned, but the rain concealed the noise. “No.”

“We should split up,” Cas offered, his voice nearly lost in the tempest. “Dean and I will travel the fork to the right. Sam, you take the path to the left. We shall return here within the hour and report to one another.”

It seemed like a good idea, and at Dean’s shrug, Sam nodded.

They set down their different roads, and for a long time Sam worried he had chosen the wrong path. He stumbled through the muddy forest, tripping across low-hanging branches. Water rushed across previously dry glades in great sheets, and he found himself forced to leap to and fro to avoid it. He moved in ways neither safe nor wise, considering the last disaster he'd nearly gotten himself into.

Finding the spot he'd left Gadreel in the darkness would present trouble even in the best of weather conditions. In the torrential downpour, with the stars half-blotted out and the moonlight hazy and dim, it seemed nigh impossible. What had he been thinking, leaving the star alone to fend for himself?

He leapt across a flowing stream of water, and when he landed, he lost his footing on the slick mud, sliding across towards a tree. Unable to shed his forward momentum, he slammed into the tree face first, and tumbled to the ground.

For a long moment, he couldn't hear anything, not even the rain. The storm seemed to evaporate away, and even the cold, wet mud beneath his face seemed to vanish.

_Sam..._

_Sam Winchester..._

A new sound, akin to the whispers of a thousand far-distant bells chimed in his ears, so faint he could barely hear.

_'My son is in grave danger, Sam. Please, you must help him. A unicorn of the forest came to save him from the flood, but now a terrible witch has lured them into a trap.'_

The voice rumbled with worry, as though haunted. Sam tried to respond, but he could neither see nor feel anything, not even his own body.

_‘No star is safe in Eden. A star fell four hundred years ago, and was captured by the same witches which pursue Gadreel now. They tricked her. Cared for her. And when her heart was once more aglow, they cut it from her chest and ate it._

_‘A horse approaches, carrying a noble son of Eden upon its back, and you must accompany him by any means necessary.’_

All at once, Sam returned to reality, the sounds of the storm crashing around him. He breathed deep, his chest aching and tight in the cold. Just who had spoken to him? He’d called Gadreel his son, but didn’t the stars claim the Moon as their Father? But didn’t his own father say prayers took years to reach the sky?

He sat up, rubbing his head and trying to find his wits, and in the distance heard the distant sound of a galloping horse.

The pain he'd felt moments earlier seemed lighter; more bearable. Sam stumbled back to his feet, and bolted towards the path. He couldn't see the mysterious 'son of Eden' he had been directed to meet, but he _had_ to catch that horse.

He bolted ungracefully, half-blind in the storm—and nearly tripped right in its path. The horse reared back on its legs, and its rider shouted in alarm.

"Who goes there?" a voice called, and Sam suddenly found himself on the receiving end of a critical pair of eyes. A young man—far younger than Sam—dismounted, and paced to where he lay in the mud, sword drawn.

"Whoa, hey," Sam stuttered. “Uh, I don't mean any—."

"Did my brother send you to kill me?" he demanded.

Sam froze, too stunned to answer for a beat. "I... what? Brother? I don't even know who you are."

The man hesitated, then spun on his heels, sheathing his sword. "I'll be on my way, then."

"Wait!" Sam shouted, moving closer. "Listen, I have a problem, and I need help. We can help each other, maybe?"

The man narrowed his eyes, lips tightening. "No, I'm afraid not. I'm on a mission of incredible importance."

"All the more reason to take me along, sir," Sam pleaded. "Fate led me to you, as it led you to me. Perhaps you may need a second pair of hands."

The man turned his head to the side, and seemed to consider it. But Sam knew what he’d offered thus far would not convince him. He had to offer him more.

"To tell the truth, I'm looking for someone," Sam admitted. "He’s injured, and he's out here somewhere. I’m desperate to find him. Please."

The man's cautious expression relaxed somewhat, though he yet seemed conflicted. "There is an inn a distance back from the path I've just traveled," he said. "I thought of stopping, but my mission is too important to rest for long." He paused. “However, I did not anticipate the storm to become so fierce.”

It seemed unlikely Gadreel could have managed to find his way to an inn. But then, the Moon had clearly told him to seek this man's help.

"Can you show me the way?" he asked. "If not, can you at least point me in the right direction?"

The man sighed. "Perhaps it would be best to return and stay the night. This storm grows worse by the minute." His fingers tightened on the reins. "My name is Adam."

"Sam," he responded, and offered his hand. Adam glared at it, hesitating before grasping it in kind.

"My horse can carry us a short distance," he said, and swung up on the saddle. "Do you know how to ride?"

Sam nodded. "I do, but I think we'll get there faster if I follow on foot.” At Adam’s furrowed brow, he hurried to elaborate. “I can move along quickly. I’ll keep up, I swear.”

 

 

Gadreel's eyes drifted shut, and a sigh slipped past his lips. The water enveloping his skin erased the bone-deep chill, and the aches and pains of the past day faded away. Indeed, he could feel a spark within him, allowing just the tiniest light to glow anew. His mind felt hazy, but relaxed.

"How is my potion settling on your stomach?" the innkeeper's wife asked him. "Has it worked on your wound yet?"

Gadreel shifted in the bath, staring down at his swollen ankle. "The pain has lessened. I believe it will fade within a few minutes." He lifted his eyes to the woman, and offered her a small smile. "Thank you."

"Oh, it's no bother," she chirped. "Taking care of guests involves a great many duties. I am glad to help."

He felt odd, but pleasant, as though the water could erase all his worries. The awful throbbing of his ankle finally ceased, and he found many other worries fading away. Though, the room felt as though it had lost some stability.

“The room feels strange,” he commented.

“That’s the potion, dear,” she commented, her back turned as she moved items on a nearby table. “Medicine’s a bit like strong drink. It can make you a bit woozy while its doing its work. It’ll pass.”

It seemed a solid explanation, so he leaned back and simply observed. She flitted about the room, busy with tasks he knew not what. "What shall I call you?" he asked.

A hitch in her movement suggested a moment of hesitation, causing Gadreel to wonder if the woman ever had guests asking after her. He had observed many rude humans during his reign in the heavens. It wouldn't surprise him.

"Josie," she answered. She turned, granting him a bright grin. "How kind of you to ask. And yours?"

"Gadreel."

"What a lovely name," she answered, but something seemed off in her voice, as though she did not answer honestly.

The disconnect between her words and actions made a thrum of uncertainty flutter low in his bones. He knew not all humans acted with such kindness. He had witnessed an abundance of cruelty in his time staring down on Earth, but then, Sam had surprised him with his unselfish offer of the Babylon Candle. Perhaps, like Sam, this woman also held kindness in her heart, and he simply worried over nothing. His nerves had felt aflutter with chaos since he’d fallen, after all. And the potion also seemed to affect his mind somehow. Perhaps it made him feel suspicious when he should not.

He opened his mouth to ask about her husband, but a loud knock upon the door distracted them both.

Josie flinched, and when someone knocked upon the door a second time, she grumbled something underneath her breath.

"Pardon me," she said. "It seems I have another guest to attend to."

 

 

 

 

Sam grappled with the horse's reins, shouting to Adam in the rain. "Is there anyone even here?"

"I don't know," Adam shouted back. "Perhaps we should try closer to the village for your friend?"

Sam frowned, thinking on it. “But there is light in the windows! And if this necklace is as close as your runes say, it might be here somewhere!”

Just then, the door swung open, and Adam glided inside, his attention focused upon the presumed owner of the establishment. In the meantime, Sam wrestled the unruly stallion into the stables. He would return to the search for Gadreel as soon as he’d secured the steed.

"Hey," he cooed, touching the horse's neck, "it's dry and warm in here. You'll be okay." He sighed. "You know, I work in a stable, not unlike this."

Sam felt at home among the scent of fresh hay and green wood. Though, it smelled incredibly _clean_ for a stable. He supposed they had excellent stable hands here, or either a lack of guests...

Which seemed strange for an inn at a well-traveled crossroads.

He had no reason to ponder this mystery, anyway. No matter what the strange voice had told him, and no matter what Adam’s runes claimed, if his star hadn’t taken shelter here, he needed to move on, with or without Adam. His focus remained upon Gadreel.

 

 

What had started out as a promising ambush had turned into an annoyance.

Abaddon had lured the star straight into her trap. Her goats made for an interesting 'family', but she hadn't had much else to choose from in such short time. Of course, one of her goats had been a human boy, and so he knew well how to behave. And a mere mortal had no hope of resisting her influence, not the mighty Witch Queen. But then the elderly goat had nearly presented a problem, what with the show he’d made. But for a tool, he did well enough.

She'd only anticipated needing to keep up the facade for an hour, maybe two. But the star’s wound needed tending before its heart could glow again. She'd had to part with a portion of her elixir, and hoped the star would not know the difference. It seemed he did not, but what a waste. Like Babylon Candles, elixirs did not grow on trees.

The star had lost some of its wits after sipping the strong, magical potion, which made it easier to lure it into comfort and peacefulness. But the effect would not last long—indeed, it likely had already begun to fade. She needed to move quickly while it remained drunk on the magic.

The first, bare traces of its glow had begun to return. As the lines of its face had eased, its skin had begun to shine. Nothing resembling the luminous star it had once been, but she had seen the light within it kindle anew. Just a few more minutes, and its heart would have glowed once more, making it ripe for harvesting.

Then these damned visitors had interrupted her. But she had not become the Witch Queen by virtue of her patience, and so she would eliminate them in short order.

Her servant boy moved with purpose, dutifully performing the role of an innkeeper’s son under the influence of Abaddon’s magic. He carried a cup of wine on his tray to serve to the young man who'd just entered. She intercepted her ‘son’, tapping a finger against the side of the mug. The sweet wine turned to a sweeter poison, deadly within the space of a single sip.

Behind them, the star stood from its bath, donning the robe she'd laid out for it. It seemed guileless. Lost. She would keep it isolated from these guests.

"I'll be with you in a moment," she dismissed the boyish newcomer, who simply nodded in response.

Upon closer inspection, she noted even soaked through and young, he appeared well-dressed and stately. Perhaps a nobleman of some sort, she pondered, though it mattered little. She would dispose of him all the same.

"Have a drink on the house while you wait,” she added sweetly.

Her servant offered the drink, but the young man waved it away. "No, thank you. I've made a vow to indulge in only my own drink until my work is completed."

She quirked an eyebrow, and actually found herself moderately curious. Obviously, he had some experience with poisoned drink, but it presented a temporary annoyance. Any other time, she’d wave a hand and reduce the boy to dust, but she could not take the risk of startling the star. She’d worked too hard to make its heart bright once more.

"How about your friend in the stables?" she inquired. Perhaps she could take out the other one if she couldn't immediately dispatch this nobleman.

"I'm sure he'd appreciate that."

She grinned, and waved her hand at her servant, who dutifully began to gather supplies.

"I'll be with you in a moment. I've an injured patient to see to bed." She glided towards the star, who seemed to examine its foot. The elixir certainly seemed to have done its job, and to her relief, the star still seemed somewhat dazed from its power. It seemed relaxed and closer to content, but its heart still did not glow.

"Come," she lured him. "The bed is in here."

The star moved along with her, trusting and unresistant. Perhaps the elixir had made the perfect tool after all, and she shouldn’t consider it wasted. It made the creature just as foolish and dull-minded as the other stars she’d harvested. She had cut them open, made art of their bloodied bodies, and cleaved their immortal hearts from their chests. It had taken magic to fool this one, but she would succeed all the same.

She took great delight in observing how stars never learned anything, as if shining high above in the heavens made the need for basic knowledge of life in Eden obsolete. It made her job easier when they fell.

The star stared down at the bed as though it didn't know what to do, and she had to coax it to lie down.

"Just rest here while I tend to the other guests," she purred. "I'll come back later to give you a massage."

Its brow furrowed, its voice thick and tired. "What is a massage?"

"You've never had a—oh goodness me," she exclaimed, her arms akimbo. "Never had a massage, you poor soul. Give me a few minutes to put up our guests and I'll show you. It will help you sleep."

He seemed to think on it a moment. "I do have trouble sleeping at night."

The edge of her lips twitched, and she couldn't help but grin. _Obviously_ , she thought to herself as she turned and pulled the door shut. Its dulled wits would make it difficult for it to understand the folly of doing so.

The sound of yet another visitor beating upon the door echoed through the small inn as she marched down the stairs. She could not restrain a groan, for who _else_ had found them in this damnable storm tonight? How many new rooms would she need to conjure? She could kill them on sight, but she couldn't risk frightening the star with such extreme measures. She had to keep her activity subtle.

The door flung open, and a tall man strutted inside, his face streaked with mud. He stood just taller than her, with sandy hair and eyes so green she wondered if he had magic within him. But upon closer inspection, the freckled face was little more than a pretty thing to look upon, and held not even a speck of magic.

"Hey, is there room in this inn? That storm ain’t gettin’ any better, and this is the only place for miles."

Hmm. Perhaps this wouldn’t present as much annoyance as she thought.

"I am sorry, sir," she said, moving back to the counter. "I'm afraid our rooms are all full."

The man seemed to take this in stride. "Is there room in the stable? My friend and I will clean it and feed your livestock if we can take shelter in there for the night."

She wanted to say 'no,' but didn't have an acceptable excuse to do so. He’d made a perfectly reasonable request, and after all, if they busied themselves in the stable, they could not hamper her progress inside. She would dispose of them later, quietly, along with the other man outside.

"It is a small stable sir, but you and your traveling companion are welcome to do so."

The man thanked her, and then he gave a gruff nod to her younger guest before turning to make his way outside.

“Bernard,” she said to her servant, nearly on the man’s heels. “Be certain to take three cups for all our guests.”

Powerless to resist her command, he nodded before gathering more cups and exiting.

"Now," she cooed, "a room for you." She pulled a key from the shelf which went to the second floor room. "The bed is made already. Shall I have my son draw water for a bath?"

He shook his head. "No. But perhaps my companion would be interested. You may ask him when he returns from the stable."

 _If_ he returned, Abaddon thought to herself. She had no intention of this young man leaving his room alive, either. Nothing would get in the way of her reaping her star’s heart.

 

 

 

 

Sam had only just tied off the reins of Adam’s horse when he noted the unicorn in the stall down the way.

He stared in open shock, his mouth agape. Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did, what with all the impossible things he’d seen already. And yet, he couldn't help but stare with wide eyes. Here stood a creature he’d only seen in books, one he’d always thought a mere fantasy of storytellers… and here it stood. Real. Alive.

Sam approached it with care. Did unicorns wander about in Eden, no less common than horses? Perhaps so. He stretched out his hand, and it turned and dipped its head, exhaling softly as Sam’s hand came into contact with its snowy hair.

“You’re a beautiful thing, aren’t you?” Sam breathed, petting it. “I didn’t even know unicorns existed, and here you are, all gentle and kind.”

As Sam admired the unicorn, the stable doors swung open. He froze, knowing well a quick, sharp movement could startle a horse. As he slowly withdrew his hand, he felt awkward all at once. This horse... _unicorn_ … didn’t belong to him. So why had he messed with it at all?

"Sam?"

He turned his head to see Castiel and Dean entering the room, half-drowned from the endless downpour.

"Cas! Dean!" Sam shouted, and bounded over to them.

Cas tugged a horse in behind them, and offered Sam a smile.

"You lost us back there, you idiot," Dean growled, though his voice didn’t seem harsh. "You didn’t meet us back at the crossroad. We tried to follow your path into the forest, but you had disappeared."

"We were worried," Cas added. "I am glad we found you safe here."

Sam felt a sharp pang of guilt. "I’m so sorry. Something happened, and I had to hurry."

"Did you find your friend?" Dean pressed.

He opened and shut his mouth a few times, then shook his head. "Not yet. You?”

They shook their heads.

Sam sighed. “But I'll move on to the next place just as soon as the guy who helped me out in the forest checks in."

" _Another_ dude?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "His name is Adam. He's searching for something around here, too, but not a person. Unless necklaces can be people."

"Oh, well, there was this emerald a few years back—," Dean began, but halted, cutting himself off with a chortle. "You know what? Never mind. Not important right now."

"If the Witch Queen is indeed nearby," Cas cautioned, "I would not recommend stopping anywhere in this vicinity, especially if she seeks your friend. Abaddon is resourceful and powerful. She isn't easily denied."

Sam nodded, his lips twitching. "I can't stop until I find him. He's injured. He can’t defend himself against her."

Cas glanced at Dean before continuing, his tone softer. "Sam, Dean and I are curious. If we may ask, who are you looking for, precisely?"

His heart stuttered. "A friend."

"What is your friend's name?" Dean pressed.

Sam struggled to think of a fake name. Did stars have recognizable names? Sure, Sam didn't know the difference, but maybe Eden residents did.

He blurted out the first name which came to mind, one from an old book of angels his father had kept at home. "Ezekiel."

Cas' reaction seemed muted, his lips slowly curling into a frown.

"Took you a few seconds to come up with that," Dean pushed. "Are you sure that's his name?"

"Yes. Very sure." Sam kept his face even and still, but he worried he might have already given it away.

"Look, I got a feeling we might be on the same side here, Sammy," Dean continued. "But let's pretend for a moment his name's really Ezekiel."

"What Dean means to ask," Cas continued, "if the friend you are searching for is a star."

The moment Cas uttered 'star', Sam's heart went into overdrive. “Star? Who said anything about stars? I haven’t seen a star.”

Sam could have hit himself. Smooth answer.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Dean cut in. "We're looking for the star, too. Not to hurt it, but because we knew witches would be after it."

Sam kept his mouth resolutely shut. He wouldn't betray Gadreel. He _wouldn't_.

Cas approached him, standing a hair's breadth away from Sam. "Look at my eyes," he admonished. "Look closely."

Never mind how strange it felt having someone hover so close to one’s face. Never mind that Sam didn't know Cas, certainly not well enough to be staring deep into his strange, blue eyes.

But all the same, once he truly examined his eyes, his jaw fell open. _Moondust_.

Sam nearly gasped. "You're a... a..."

"Star," Cas finished. "I fell one hundred years ago, and the Witch Queen and her coven pursued me across Eden." He tugged open his overcoat, revealing a tiny snowdrop flower in his breast pocket. "I faked my demise and hid from them, thanks to this token of luck given to me by a good soul."

Dean crossed his arms. “You’ve got to be a good guy at heart if you can see it in his eyes. Not everyone can see it. So come on, Sam. Level with us. We’re here to help your star friend.”

Cas took a step back, and Sam could only stare. _Another_ star. Astonishing. After a quick glance over at Dean, he gathered his wits about him, and began to explain.

"His name is Gadreel," Sam explained. "He’s the Guardian Star. He broke his ankle when he fell from the sky, and can't walk. I went to the town to get medicine, and hid him in the forest because of his exhaustion. But he’s not where I left him, and now I can't find him anywhere."

He clawed at his soaked shirt, pulling free the snowdrop. "I had this, but I didn't know what it was until today. As I told you in the storm, I'm from beyond the wall." He replaced it in his soggy shirt. “Which is why I must leave at once. I heard a voice telling me to ride with a passing traveler, and he brought me this far, but I’ve not found him yet.”

Cas reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. "We will find him," he said. "We both have snowdrops. That's too much luck to fail."

"How did someone from beyond the wall get messed up in all this, anyhow?" Dean asked.

"It’s quite a long story, and once we find Gadreel I’ll tell you all about—," Sam began, but froze at the sound of the stable door creaking open. A young man strolled inside—perhaps the innkeeper's son—with three cups and a pitcher.

"Wine to warm you on this cold night, young sirs?" he asked.

Sam gave him a weak smile as he took the cup, and Dean and Cas followed in kind.

The man turned and left, and Sam regarded the cup with increasing agitation. For every minute he spent apart from his star, his nerves had kept winding up in knots. He needed to leave already, but everything kept getting in the way. He would take a few sips of this, go and apologize to Adam in the inn, and return to the search. Perhaps Castiel and Dean would assist him, since they all knew the truth now.

He sighed. Gadreel wasn’t _his_ star. He shouldn’t think that way.

As he lifted the cup to his lips, the unicorn whinnied and kicked at the door of its stall. Something had startled it, or caused it to go wild. Sam ducked out of the way an instant before it splintered the door. His cup flew in the air, lost in the mayhem.

"A unicorn?" Cas breathed, seeming to note it for the first time. They had all been somewhat distracted, after all.

A strong hoof pawed at the ground, and Sam turned to see the wine flowing from his cup, sizzling along the concrete where it spilled.

Cas and Dean stared warily at their cups before throwing them to the floor.

"Unicorns are creatures of the Moon, and the companions of stars," Cas said. "If there is a unicorn here, the Moon sent it to help a star. Gadreel cannot be far."

"Dammit. The wine!" Dean shouted, a haunting expression dawning upon him. "Abaddon is already here!"

 

 

The bed felt soft and comfortable beneath his body, and for the first time since he'd fallen, Gadreel felt warm and painless. He felt tired and somewhat dazed, but not sleepy. He didn’t know if he ever truly could sleep a night away. He'd spent thirty million years awake and shining bright during the deepest hours of the night. Such a habit wouldn’t change so quickly. With any luck, he'd not have to change the habit at all.

But he did feel comfortable, and so the slightest hint of a glow returned to Gadreel. But as he laid in the bed, the haziness which had settled upon his mind began to fade away. He recalled Sam with faint worry, for he no doubt at that very moment searched the flooded forest for him. Would he think to check just down the way at the inn?

He trusted the human would locate him soon, and Gadreel would help him impress the swordsmith he held in such high esteem. He would see Sam's home beyond the wall, which the star regarded with great curiosity. And then Sam would use his Babylon Candle to put him back into the sky.

But worry and uncertainty plagued him in equal measures. Returning to the sky would mean he could never speak to Sam again. Certainly, Gadreel could gaze down upon him, but he couldn't interact in any meaningful way. Aside from staring up wistfully, Sam would never see him again, either.

He felt a new rush of worry for Sam’s well-being, for this storm sounded vicious even through the solid wall. Abruptly, his light went quiet, which startled the star. He hadn't even realized he'd been shining (But why had he been glowing? He’d only been thinking of Sam).

Any pleasantness associated with his comfortable, warm bed dissolved away. The star turned over on his side, an unpleasant flutter in his stomach as he tried to push the awful thoughts away. But his mind had cleared from its strange, medicine-induced haze entirely, and he could not cease worrying.

He shouldn't be here.

He'd felt stirrings of trepidation when he'd first knocked on the door of the inn, but he'd been in enough pain he'd ignored it. Now that he’d recovered, he knew he shouldn't remain while Sam wandered about in the rain, searching for him. Gadreel would thank Josie for her kindness and depart forthwith. He had to locate Sam.

He turned over and rose to his feet, pleased to find he could stand. The now-dry coat hung on a rung by the doorway, and so Gadreel took it in hand before pushing the door open. He could not leave without it, for he would need to return it to Sam.

A young man stood across the hall, his arms crossed and head tilted. He seemed familiar, but such a thing couldn't be. Gadreel had never met a human before yesterday. Perhaps he had gazed upon him once before while he’d still shone in the sky.

"Hello," he greeted, wrapping the coat around himself. The heavy necklace he wore pinched his skin underneath the linen of his robe. The hallway carried a chill about it, one his room didn't have. Curious.

"Greetings," the man returned, not turning in his direction. He inspected his open palm, which held an assortment of strange symbols.

Gadreel glanced down the staircase, but did not see Josie. Perhaps she had gone out to the stables?

"Do you know where the innkeeper or his wife have gone?" he asked.

The man shook his head, and finally turned in his direction. "Not a clue," he replied. "My door is locked, and my traveling companion hasn't returned from the stables." He paused. "This inn is rather strange, is it not?"

Gadreel furrowed his brow. "I do not know. I've never stayed in one before."

The man narrowed his eyes. "Don't you travel at all?"

Gadreel shook his head. "Never."

The young man snorted. "Well, I would envy such a quiet life. It's unfortunate you've caught yourself out in this storm. Traveling can be much fun if the weather's right."

Gadreel thought it over. "I will remember that. Thank you."

The young man gave him another thoughtful glance, and moved closer. "Adam."

Gadreel raised an eyebrow. "Adam?"

"My name."

"Oh!" The star felt a flush of embarrassment, and stared at the human's hand. He'd seen this interaction before, yes…. He stretched out his own hand and grasped it, shaking lightly. "I am Gadreel. Forgive me, I am tired."

Adam hummed agreement, and appeared to shrug it off. "I’m searching for something of monumental importance. My companion, on the other hand, is searching for someone." He glanced at Gadreel. "What brings you out in this storm?"

"I was cast from my home by accident," he explained. "Now I am trying to return. I was also separated from a traveling companion. I mean to find my clothing and resume the search."

His eyebrows shot up. "In this storm?" he asked, taken aback. "You sound like the guy who found me in the woods. It's best to let this storm pass—."

"Pardon me," Gadreel interrupted, his entire body gone warm with hope. "You found your companion in the woods? Searching for someone?"

Adam nodded, his eyes pinched.

Gadreel hesitated. "Was his name Sam?"

The young man's jaw dropped. "Yes! Are you his injured friend? He’ll be so grateful. He was absolutely frantic—Hey, wait a second!"

Gadreel bounded down the steps, intent on running out into the rain and finding Sam. He would put his mind at ease. Fate had brought them both to this inn. Perhaps his Father _had_ intervened in Eden’s affairs for him!

Adam's footsteps thumped along the floor as he followed. "Are you _glowing_? Is everything—"

Gadreel spun to face him, the top of his robe falling open as he turned. "I must tell him I am well!"

But Adam didn't say anything. He stared in astonishment at his chest.

"That necklace," he breathed. "Where did you get it?"

Gadreel frowned, his glow dimming once more as he stared down at the heavy pendant in confusion. "This? It knocked me from the sky, and by my Father’s laws, I bear a duty to carry it with me until I may return it to its owner."

The young man's face had gone pale. "It knocked you from the sky? I don't understand, but I _need_ that necklace. I'll give you anything you want, but I must have it. It belongs to my family."

Gadreel placed his hand over the pendant, and stared back at Adam. "This belongs to you? Why did it knock me from Heaven?”

Adam glanced between the necklace and Gadreel's face a few times, then he saw understanding dawn. "You're a... You're a star!"

"I am."

Just then, the door flew open, and Sam dashed inside. For an instant, all his fears and troubles melted away, and he felt his heart grow lighter. An instant later, another man tumbled inside after Sam, and... _his brother_?

"Castiel?" Gadreel breathed, mouth agape. "It cannot be!"

The door behind them slammed shut, and the innkeeper's wife suddenly appeared on the stairway. "Look at all this commotion!" she exclaimed.

 

 

Sam had never run so fast in his life, colliding with the door and flinging it open so quickly he thought it might slam off its hinges. All the while, Dean cursed the entire way behind him, screaming at Sam to 'wait a second.' But Sam didn't have a second, now while Gadreel remained within the clutches of Abaddon.

Upon crashing into the inn, his heart soared at the sight of Gadreel, apparently engaged in deep conversation with Adam. The star turned immediately to face him, and his skin _glowed_. What did that mean? Had something gone wrong?

But then, Abaddon appeared, and Sam paled. He rushed towards Gadreel, tugging on his arm and inserting himself between them.

"Move quickly, Sam!" Adam shouted, also taking a position between Abaddon and them, sword drawn. "She means to cut out his heart and eat it! Take him to safety!"

"Damn," Abaddon crooned, a devious grin on his face. "I suppose my cover's blown, hmm? Well, in that case..."

Green flames shot up around them, covering every wall and window, blocking any possible exit. Gadreel recoiled backwards, the motion jerking Sam with him, but neither had anywhere to flee. From the corner of his eye, he saw Adam rushing towards Abaddon, only to fly into the wall with a swish of her hand. Dean and Castiel also flew to the floor.

Sam stumbled backwards, wrapping his arms around Gadreel, who shivered under his touch. He had to think of _something_. He couldn’t let the witch end things here!

"It would have been better if you'd drifted asleep, while your heart was warm and nearly aglow. Now, your frightened heart isn't much," Abaddon sneered, stepping through a wall of flame to corner them, "but it is better than no heart at all."

She held a silver sword in her hand, long and slender and graceful. Sam’s stomach lurched when he realized she held a Moon Blade, just like Gadreel’s in every respect.

He scrambled for options. He could demand the star’s sword and fight her off. But while Sam knew he had exceptional skill, Abaddon had magic, and could swat him like a fly, just as she had the others. They could neither hide nor retreat.

Then Sam's breath caught in his throat. The candle!

But what of the others?

Dean had grabbed Adam, and both huddled around Castiel’s feet, who had regained his footing, standing tall and strong. He held out a hand towards Abaddon, his eyes glowing electric blue. His very skin began to glow, and Sam could just make out the words, “Shut your eyes!”

But whatever the other star might have planned, Abaddon had already cornered them, and Sam had no choice but to flee with his star. He hoped whatever power Cas drew upon helped them, for they would have to fend for themselves before the Witch Queen. If Sam didn’t take them from there immediately, Gadreel would die.

"Gadreel," he breathed into the star's ear, his arms still wrapped around him. He unwound one arm to grasp at the candle in his pocket. "Close your eyes, and think of home." The star glanced between Sam and the candle, and his mouth hanging open, nodded. 

"No!" screamed Abaddon, who began to charge towards them. All the while, Castiel’s light kept growing.

"Think of home!" Sam repeated, and flung his entire hand, candle and all, into the wall of green flame. It burned hotter than any fire had a right to, and he howled in agony. But he did not let go, and would not remove his hand. He had to let it burn, candle and flesh and all.

He thought of Wall, the tiny village he’d always called home, which stood hundreds of miles away. Perhaps even beyond the Witch Queen's influence, if they truly had luck.

Just as the candle’s power had consumed Sam before, a fiery wind drew up all about them. With his star held firmly against his chest, the tempest tossed them about, as though flying through a tornado.

He had only a vague sense of Abaddon lowering her blade, only to miss as the candle’s magic swept them away.


	5. A Pirate's Life

They flew together, in this massive storm of magic, soaring faster and faster. Sam’s hand burned in the candle’s fire, and he howled with the pain of it. But despite the agony, he held fast until it melted away, hot, dark lumps of wax leaving burning trails down his forearm.

They emerged from the spell’s fury and landed atop a dark, fluffy mass. The rain beat down upon them and the lightning seemed closer. The last of the candle had turned to wax and ashes in his closed fist, blowing away in the wind as he opened his hand.

He blinked. Where had they landed? The darkness made it near-impossible to see, but it felt spongy and thick with mist. Sam went to dig his hand into the strange floor, only to find it real and unreal at the same time. Solid, yet not, as though floating upon fluffy pillows.

Oh no...

"We're in the clouds?!" he shouted over the roar of the storm. “But how?"

Gadreel, drenched in the rain, stared up at the dark sky. "I believe some prior planning might have benefited us," he answered, his voice nearly lost in the wind. "I thought of my home in Heaven. I believe you thought of your home in Wall."

Sam's heart sank. "And we're stuck halfway between! What do we do now?"

Gadreel kept silent, and Sam hung his head, realizing how he must sound. “I’m not blaming you, Gadreel. It’s my fault. I should have… thought ahead.”

The star said nothing, and Sam didn’t push him. Instead, Sam took off his coat, soaking wet but still able to shelter against the rain, and draped it over Gadreel’s shoulders. They both measured about the same size, and it seemed to fit him well. The human shivered without it, but he figured Gadreel kind of had things worse. In any case, the star remained silent, possibly deep in thought.

Sam’s hand _hurt_. He tried to assess it in the lightning-light, but he could feel the burns searing his skin, covering his palm and fingers, and trailing down across his wrist. He might as well have thrust his hand into a fireplace. Using his hand as a wick hadn’t been the wisest thing he might have done, but he’d had no time, and any other option would have resulted in death. As it stood now, they faced doom anyway. He didn’t understand how they could sit upon a cloud in the first place, and worse, they had a habit of evaporating away.

The storm raged above them, but it slowly drifted away. After a long while, the lightning moved on, leaving only rain and utter darkness.

Gadreel, after many long minutes of silence, moved in the darkness, perhaps turning towards Sam. “You used your hand to light the candle. Are you well?”

“It’s all right,” Sam lied.

The star scoffed, closing gentle hands around Sam’s bicep, dragging it closer. “No. I can clearly see it is not.”

“How can you see anything?” Sam wondered aloud. “It’s pitch black.”

“I am a star,” he answered, and Sam supposed it made sense enough. If he could light the darkness of the night, surely he could see through it?

Careful hands moved towards his wounds, and Sam, despite a strong desire to avoid the touch, offered it to the star. He thought. He couldn’t quite tell in the dark.

Gadreel’s hands hovered around the edges of his burned flesh, near but never quite touching.

“I am sorry, Sam Winchester,” he murmured, defeated, pulling his hands away. “You’ve sustained injury for my sake.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he reassured him. “We’ll figure it out. How’s your ankle?”

“Healed,” he answered. “By the witch who wishes to cut out my heart.”

Sam frowned in the darkness, but he made a move to scoot closer to Gadreel. “Hey, we’re not going to let her do that. Didn’t you see how all those people came together to protect you?”

Gadreel said nothing, but he leaned against Sam just a bit. “I am uncertain it is enough. Stars… they fall to the ground. They do not return to the sky.” He paused, and Sam could feel the dejection in his movements. “The Babylon Candles use old magic, and their rarity is well-known. The chance of finding another is miniscule.”

“Hey, don’t give up,” Sam pleaded. “We’ll get you back up there. You just have to believe.”

Gadreel turned, or at least Sam thought he did. “Believe?”

“Yeah, you know. Have faith. Trust the universe is looking out for you.”

“I have fallen into a world where the most powerful entities wish to cleave my heart from my chest and eat it,” he answered, voice full of shivers. “I do not consider that ‘looking out’ for my well-being.”

Sam made a noise of frustration, soft and reflexive, because Gadreel had a point. He’d landed in a rotten situation. And it made Sam feel all the more guilty. After all, hadn’t he dragged Gadreel across Eden just so he could impress a swordsmith?

Maybe he didn’t want to become a swordsmith. He’d just wanted to get out of Wall, and know freedom. But Gadreel’s fate carried far more importance than his becoming an apprentice. Now that Sam had discovered Eden, he knew he could find his destiny here somewhere. Life held far more worth than the value of a single apprenticeship.

“Listen,” Sam offered, “you can’t think like that. Yes, awful things happen, but we’re doing the best we can. So I’m going to tell you something, Gadreel. We’re going to get down out of this cloud, and we’re going to find you another candle, and we’ll put you right back in the sky where you belong.”

Gadreel remained silent a long while, and for a time, Sam didn’t think he would respond.

“It is not so simple.”

Sam thought the star might argue the point with him, but he elaborated instead.

“You saved my life in the inn.”

Sam blinked, confused. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“This means I am bound to you, by the laws of the Moon,” he breathed. “Since you’ve saved my life, you are, by the laws of Heaven, responsible for me, and I for you. Where you go, I must go also.”

Sam thought on this a moment. “You’re stuck with me?”

Gadreel almost sounded dejected. “Whither thou goest, there also I must go.”

The tone struck at him, stabbing like ice in his gut. “Oh. Is that so bad?” After a moment, he shook his head, and no doubt the star could see him in the pervasive darkness. “Actually, don’t answer that.”

“Sam…”

“No, I get it,” he interrupted. “It’s fine. I’m just a stable boy, and now a big, bright star is stuck with me.”

“You are not—.”

“But I’m gonna prove you wrong,” Sam interrupted, his heart swelling with new purpose. “I’m going to find one of these candles, if I have to travel Eden and Earth over. Somehow, someway, I am going to put you back into the sky. You say stars don’t go back up again? Well, you’re going back up. I swear it on my mother’s and father’s honor.”

Gadreel moved, and for a moment, Sam thought the star had shifted away from him. Instead, Sam flinched in surprise as gentle hands touched his arms.

“Sam Winchester,” he breathed, “you are… a good man.” And after a moment, “Good men are rare, no matter what realm they hail from.”

He could feel the star’s breath on his face, and all at once, Sam’s heartbeat sped up, and he felt warm in the freezing storm. “Gadreel… I promise you. I”m going to get you home.”

The star sighed, and lowered his forehead against Sam’s temple, his warm breath skittering down the wet skin of Sam’s neck in the darkness. The star hovered close—too close—but Sam had neither the will nor desire to turn him away.

A flurry of lights, soft and fluttering, began to approach from the east. Sam stared out at them, and from the faint illumination, he could see Gadreel inspecting the sight as well.

“Friends of yours?” Sam asked. Though he kind of wanted to keep doing… whatever this was, he needed to keep his mind on the moment. He had to protect Gadreel.

“No,” he answered. “Something else.”

“Bad?”

“I suppose there is no way to know.”

Between fallen stars and witches and getting stuck in a cloud, Sam wondered what else could possibly go wrong.

Over his relatively short life, Sam had learned to avoid certain questions or lines of thinking, as it seemed akin to tempting fate. Sometimes, he learned new questions not to ask only when they went terribly awry.

A massive net enveloped the both of them, tumbling them head over heels and dragging them up through the sky. The human had no idea what had happened. Did the creatures of the sky cast nets for things in clouds, just as humans cast nets upon the sea for fish?

With a painful groan, Sam felt himself tumble against something decidedly solid and hard. Gadreel slumped on the surface next to him, almost entirely hidden in the maze of ropes and shadows. The net ripped away abruptly, and Sam's head shot up to see a crowd of men hovering over him.

"Look here, Captain!" one shouted. "We've caught ourselves some lightning marshals!"

Sam shared a glance with Gadreel, who seemed as confused as he felt. For the millionth time in two days, Sam wished desperately he knew the first thing about Eden.

A man strutted over to them, face hidden in the shadows of his thick cloak. His voice sounded different than theirs. Distinguished.

"This far from the storm? They certainly don't look like lightning marshals," he said.

"Why else would they be way up here?" one of the men asked.

The taller man—the captain, as they had called him—tilted his head, voice colored with amusement.

"Why would someone be way up here in a storm?,” he repeated. “Incredible. Let me think. Perhaps the same thing we are?”

He turned his head towards the two of them, and offered a hand to them both. Gadreel accepted one outstretched hand, while Sam took the man’s hand with his unburned hand.

“There must be one fabulous story to how you got all the way up here,” he said. “Can I assume you’re in need of assistance?”

Sam and Gadreel shared a glance.

“Assistance? Yes,” Sam sputtered. “Assistance needed. Um, Captain. Sir.”

The man grinned, his eyes still hidden by his hood, and motioned them towards the inside of… the ship?

Lined with wooden railing and carried by massive sails above them in the dim lightning light, he realized he indeed stood upon a ship. Amazing! Just as mighty ships crossed the oceans back home, apparently ships sailed across Eden’s skies!

He hurried to follow along behind the captain, tugging at the door he’d retreated into. When Gadreel did not follow, Sam put an arm around him to guide him, noting that the star had fallen into some sort of a worrying stillness. He turned his attentions back upon the door, and found it ridiculously heavy as he pulled. All cast iron and sturdy wood, it finally swung open, closing behind them with a heavy clang. The man removed his cloak, tossing it upon the floor without a second thought. Free of the covert clothing, Sam faced a middle-aged man with dark, blond hair, his eyes bright and blue.

“Let’s get you out of these wet clothes, friends,” he began, “and get you some food. We’re on a lightning hunting expedition, so it’ll be tomorrow evening until we make port.”

Sam glanced around the well-decorated room, but he couldn’t glance away from Gadreel for long. The star’s skin had turned ashen, and his hair gray. He shivered, even with Sam’s coat to warm him, his eyes unfocused.

The poor star, Sam thought to himself. Wet as a drowned rat, cold, and afraid. How would it feel to have witches hunting him for his heart, and to believe he had no escape back home? Sam moved closer, daring to rest a hand on Gadreel’s shoulder.

The star did not respond, his thoughts known only to him.

Their rescuer moved to his cabinet, pulling out a carefully-wrapped bottle of wine. Sam wondered how it never broke with all the ship’s pitching and turning, even with all the padding around it.

“A drink?” he asked.

Sam shook his head. Gadreel did nothing.

“Ah, well, suit yourselves,” he answered. “My name is Balthazar, and you’ve somehow found yourselves tangled in our nets.” He paused to take a sip, sighing with pleasure at the taste. “I’m the captain, so allow me to welcome you aboard the Celine. And you are?”

“I’m Sam, and this is… uh… Ezekiel,” he stuttered, motioning towards Gadreel, who still did not respond. “We uh… had a run-in with this witch down on the surface. She had her mind set on hunting someone, and we got on the wrong side of a spell and ended up here. Somehow.”

He glanced at Gadreel again, his stomach flip-flopping in alarm. He’d fallen silent, nearly catatonic, only moving when prompted. He seemed so tired, so old, as if his mood had transformed his entire body.

“I think he got quite a shock,” Sam pleaded. “You wouldn't have somewhere for him to rest, would you?”

Balthazar’s eyebrows reached for the ceiling as he glanced between the two. “Of course. We’ll take care of him.” He paused again, his eyes settling on Sam’s hand, lips quirking into a worried frown. “We’ll take care of your hand, too. We’ve an apothecary on board. She’s talented with all manner of medicine.”

“Oh, but—.”

Balthazar waved his hand. “We can care for you both, Young Sam. Considering you’ve encountered a witch, I believe you could both use it.”

Sam nodded in gratitude, and watched as the older man’s face warmed, a chuckle breaking free.

“My, what a pair the both of you make. You in your muddy clothes, and him in a bathrobe. You must have quite a story to tell.” He downed the remnant of his drink in one swallow, and stood, grinning brightly. “So, darlings, let us get you out of these awful wet clothes and into something a bit warmer?” His eyes settled on Gadreel. “And of course, get him into bed.”

 

 

Adam’s head hurt severely, but all in all, he felt extremely grateful to still have his head.

The inn had been one of the most chaotic and frightening events of his life, and for the boy who lived in the Eden royal family, the statement meant something. It seemed worse monsters roamed about than the evil, warring heirs of the throne. The woman reminded him of stories of the witches of old, whom the first Eden kings had fought bitterly to subdue. Had they not sought to rule forever with the hearts of fallen stars fattening their bellies?

Sam and Gadreel had vanished, along with the royal ruby, and so finding the pair again became of the utmost importance. Adam knew, deep in his bones, the both of them would understand. After all, he’d had some time to get to know Sam, however brief, and he knew the man as trustworthy and genuine. His only concern had been the star’s well-being. Not that he’d mentioned the star’s true identity, but he saw no reason why the star could not also be Sam’s friend. And the star? Surely a star could only possess nobility and honesty, by definition. Adam did not foresee any problem in obtaining the ruby once he’d explained the situation.

But they had vanished, and gone no one knew where. Adam knew a Babylon Candle’s reputed power, so much so he recognized the firestorm which carried them away in a blaze of power. And when the pair had vanished, the witch turned her fury towards the three of them. But one of the men, tall and dark and intense, had grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the witches’ grasp, commanding him to shut his eyes. Adam had complied, and the place nearly exploded around them, the witch retreating with curses and a spell which carried her away in a flurry of green fire.

Now, he knew Gadreel had been no mere man, but a star. Why would a star galavant about in Eden? Did he not know the danger he placed himself in? They faced hazards from more than mighty witches, for any mortal could gain immortality by eating their hearts.

As Adam glanced at Castiel, whom he had met only hours earlier, he wondered about immortality. He found himself pondering the mysteries of eternal life. And what terror one might feel to fear murder, all for the organ beating in one’s chest.

The young prince shivered, taken aback by the thoughts roaming about in his own head. Immortality hovered in his mind as a temptation, and Adam thought any mortal man who said otherwise cast himself as a liar.

Adam squashed his rotten musing, and stood to his feet. He could not abide eternal life won by slaying a most holy creature, and would not give such a wicked thought any purchase. His brothers might think nothing of it, but Adam would not allow it to tempt him. All men were given a time of birth and a time of death. He would accept his death when it met him, whether he laid old and gray in his bed, or young in the heat of a battle.

He took several long strides towards Dean and Cas, and bowed his head deeply at the star.

“Forgive my earlier rudeness,” he said. “But I must now insist you take cover. Eden is not a safe haven for stars. Too many know what your heart could do.”

Cas smiled at him, warm and radiant, eyes bluer than the sapphires among the crown jewels. “I have lived for ten million years,” he began, “and I’ve hid in Eden for a hundred. I do know how to hide from the witches.”

“Of course,” Adam responded, nodding again. “I did not intend to suggest naievty.”

“But I appreciate your worry,” he said. “Not all men would care enough to warn me.”

Adam sighed, and turned his head towards Dean. “Do you have any idea where they might have gone? I must find Gadreel.”

Dean frowned, his suspicion writing lines upon his forehead. “Why?”

The young man took a deep breath. “My name is Adam Milligan, and I am a prince of Eden.” He proceeded to explain the entire sordid tale.

Dean crossed his arms. “Sam said he didn’t come from Eden, didn’t he?”

“From beyond the wall.”

“Think he’d try to go back there?”

“If so,” Cas told him, “he is about to make a terrible mistake. We should move to intercept him before he and Gadreel cross the wall.”

Adam frowned, glancing between them. “Why? Is there a problem?”

 

 

Sam sat quietly, staring across the hall at the open door, wherein Gadreel slept the afternoon away. He had been so exhausted that once into something dry and clean, he’d fallen asleep straight away, refusing even food and water. Despite Balthazar’s promises Gadreel would remain safe and sound in the other room, Sam wouldn’t leave his side. Finally, Balthazar had coaxed him away on condition Sam could still see Gadreel’s bed.

Now, the sarcastic, but quite vivacious pirate captain messed about with his hair, combing and snipping away at wild ends which had gone long untended.

“So, tell me about things in your world, Sam!” Balthazar chirped, snipping away at more hair. “I do love the stories of my beloved Earth!”

At that, Sam chuckled, his voice soft. “All that time, I stared at the wall and wondered what wonderful things might lie on the other side. But you wondered the same thing about my world.”

Balthazar hummed in agreement, setting down his scissors and taking up a brush. “I enjoy stories of all worlds. There are many, you know, far more than Earth and Eden.”

Sam tried to imagine it, a thousand worlds, dotting the sky like the stars themselves.

“How big is Eden, anyway?”

Balthazar made a dramatic, sweeping movement with his hand. “Quite massive. Larger than twice of Earth.”

“Aren’t they on the same planet, though?” he asked, but he didn’t quite know how astronomy worked around here. He’d read about it in books, but perhaps he should ask an Eden astronomer. Or better, when Gadreel woke up and felt better, perhaps he could ask him. He had been up in Heaven anyway, staring down at all of it. He would know best.

The captain snickered, soft and delighted. “When you’re dealing with many overlapping realms, Sam, nothing works quite like you’d think!”

He shrugged to himself, noting the wisdom in those words. Balthazar probably knew far more about how these things worked than him. Sam, who had only ever been a stable boy for all his life. Sam, who dreamed of more, but had only found trouble, both for himself and everyone else.

He glanced in the mirror on the table, and nearly leapt from the chair. His hair had grown long and thick, completely unlike the short, unruly mess it had always been before. It appeared longer. Elegant. Mature.

“How...?” he asked, voice all astonishment and wonder.

“You’re running from witches, gallivanting around in clouds, flying in an airborne pirate ship, and the thing that astonishes you is how I can make your hair grow?” Balthazar chuckled, but his voice turned low and serious. “You’re cavorting with a star, for the Moon’s sake.”

Sam’s growing smile turned to ice, his eyes wide as saucers. “A star? I don’t know what you’re—.”

“Oh, save it,” Balthazar dismissed, waving a hand. “You think we just magically happened to be in the right place at the right time to rescue you? We were searching for you both.”

Sam’s heart thundered in his chest. He mapped out the quickest route to Gadreel’s cabin, and began to consider quickest way to flee (but how did one escape a pirate ship in the air?).

“Hurt him,” he managed, “and I’ll kill you.”

Balthazar just smiled, moving to sit next to him. “Sam, who do you think I am?” He tilted his head. “Perhaps a more clear question: _What_ do you think I am?”

Sam noted his relaxed posture, and his lack of any aggressive movement since they’d arrived on the ship. And when he leaned closer, he noticed his eyes. They seemed an unworldly blue, as though a celestial ocean swirled about inside. Not the deep, dark blue of Castiel’s eyes, but they shared a wondrous, celestial quality about them.

They reminded him of Gadreel’s eyes.

Sam sat up, his jaw dropping to the floor. “ _You’re_ a star?”

His smile grew wide. “Indeed.”

“Just how many stars run about in Eden?” Sam sputtered, far too loud considering Gadreel slept just a room away. His shock, however, had been uncontainable.

Balthazar just grinned. “ _Many_. Who do you think reigned as Eden’s first king? Michael, the oldest of the stars! Even Lucifer, who founded the witches and trained the Witch Queen herself, was a star.”

Sam frowned, considering it. “Did you fall too?”

He shook his head. “Not so much fall as saunter vaguely downwards. Father asked me to find other fallen stars, and protect them. By the time I found the lost little Star of Thursday, however, he had things well under control. And the rest, well, they’re mostly here with me, now.”

He considered it. “Wait, other stars serve on this ship?”

“Several,” Balthazar admitted. “You know Anna, who made the salve for your hand? Star. And Samandriel, who cleared out the guest cabin so Gadreel might sleep?”

Sam smiled. “A star?”

Balthazar nodded. “There are others, too. Some here, some down in Eden. Some have even journeyed to other realms. Not all stars fancy the way it works up in the sky, you know. Some of us don’t want to shine through the night, but would rather turn our faces towards the sun.”

“But what about the others on board?” Sam asked. “They can’t all be stars.”

“No. But those who know of us, they’re friends and family.” Balthazar reached out and patted Sam’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’re safe here. No harm will befall either of you.”

Sam sat quietly, contemplating his words, his eyes setting back on Gadreel’s slumbering form in the bed.

“Why don’t you go to the guest room and rest?” Balthazar said. “You’ve not slept since you arrived here. You must feel tired.”

Sam nodded, and rose to his feet, crossing the short distance in the hallway. He felt as though he had so much to think about.

Gadreel’s breath came in even, slow measures, as steady as any meter to measure by. Sam wondered how it might feel to measure life in breaths. The breaths of a star. The breaths of someone you cared for.

The thought bothered Sam, for he had made an oath to put Gadreel back in the sky. He didn’t worry so much over how he had grown fond of the star, for who could not? Gadreel seemed steady as the sun, and unfailingly kind. How could anyone disapprove? So of course Sam had grown fond.

But Gadreel remained a star, holy and special and so far beyond Sam’s reach it almost made him laugh. His important, amazing light illuminated all the many worlds. And Sam? He shoveled manure in a stable and tended to horses, all in a miserable little town full of conceited, crusty old men. And Sam worried perhaps he’d unwittingly been one of those men, ambitious and thinking of little other than himself. And as he stood, staring down at this brilliant, beautiful star sleeping in the bed, he felt shame.

Gadreel had become bound to him, and felt some sort of duty, all the while being too honest to even conceal his status as a star from others—too blind to know how young and foolish of a human Sam truly had been during the entire affair. Sure, he’d called Sam a ‘good man’, but Sam knew Gadreel just didn’t know any _actual_ good men.

Maybe he could release Gadreel from this bond, somehow, and tell him he didn’t have to follow Sam back to Wall. Sam would reassure the star he’d find a candle and put him back into the sky, so he didn’t have to deal with the miserable world down there. Sure, maybe worldly stars like Balthazar and Anna enjoyed life free from Heaven, but Gadreel seemed far more like the kind of star who cherished the sky.

The door creaked behind him, and Sam turned his head just in time to see Balthazar pulling the door shut, leaving him alone in the room with the star.

He sighed with the weight of his worries, though none could hear it but the walls and the whistling wind outside. A fresh bed sat opposite of Gadreel’s, but Sam instead slunk down into the seat propped next to the star’s bed, watching as he slept.

Maybe Sam had begun this journey thinking only of his own benefit, but from the moment he’d set eyes upon the injured star, he’d thought only of helping Gadreel. And so he knew he did not belong to the greedy group of men he’d so despised.

He vowed to put his once-selfish thoughts behind him forever, so he might never travel down such a path unwittingly.

 

 

Gadreel fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, though a feeling of terror and uncertainty remained. He had seen now how stars did and could live upon the surface, but he wanted so much to go home; to hide from the witch he’d encountered earlier. He was a star, not a human. And up in the sky, in Heaven, no witch could sneak upon him to cleave his beating heart from his chest.

It seemed the witches of old were not as dead as the stars liked to believe.

He awoke, sometime in the late afternoon, he judged. Sunlight streamed into the room, peeking out from behind drawn curtains. The ship listed slightly to the left, and he wondered where their course might lead them.

When he turned his head to the side, he saw Sam in the chair next to his bed, asleep and slumped against the wall in a seemingly uncomfortable position. And his hair had curiously grown longer.

He smiled. The look suited him.

For a long moment, Gadreel simply stared. This human had found him, offered to help put him back into the sky, and toiled to such an end. So soon after falling, he’d had hope he might return home. What matter the time of a week’s journey if it meant he would return home to shine eternal in the end? Sam’s offer had been fair, and Gadreel had accepted with excitement.

But disaster had courted them thus far, and if providence or some fluke of luck had not intervened, they would have both died. Gadreel wondered if the witch who had tricked him might find him as he flew through the sky. He had no idea.

But Sam sat here, just next to him. A perfectly usable bed sat three feet across the room, and yet the human chose to sit right next to him instead, watching out for him just as he’d promised.

Perhaps he felt the urge to run home to Heaven and hide, but Sam… he made Gadreel wish to remain.

The star’s eyes trailed down to his hand, wrapped and bandaged, and he felt a stab of guilt. Sam had burned his hand to save Gadreel. He could have run away when he’d realized a witch hunted him, but instead the human boy from beyond the wall, from a realm wholly unlike Eden, had run headfirst into danger. He had disregarded his own safety to ensure Gadreel’s.

The star had never had such a thing happen before. He’d never known this feeling.

As he stared at the slack lines of Sam’s face, fitful in slumber, Gadreel felt his heart glowing, deep and strong within his chest. He did not outwardly shine, for it remained daytime, and a most improper time to glow, and he did not wish to awaken Sam with his light.

But it seemed a near thing, as he contained his light only by force of will.

He pondered on it a moment. Never before had a person caused his heart to glow so fiercely, and never with such warm, dizzying emotion. What did it mean?

This feeling, this serenity… was it love?

Gadreel had long watched humans on the world beneath him, meeting and parting ways, being cruel and suffering in loneliness. He'd seen the delight of children, running free in the fields, and the laughter of the youngest babies. And he had seen many fair maidens and fine lads meet and fall in love, in all combinations possible. Love had been all which made watching the world below and it's painful impermanence bearable.

The star had long known he would not find love himself. He shone all alone up in the sky, connected to his brothers and sisters through song and the incessant chatter of countless heavenly bodies. But he did enjoy watching love unfold beneath him. The love of family, of a brother for a brother, a parent and a child, and of course, the emotion between lovers.

Gadreel knew something of love. He did care for his brothers, and of course the Moon, even as a silent Father. But he had never thought to fall to Eden and have such an adventure—though he had on occasion wondered what an adventure might feel like. He'd certainly never thought to fall and _meet_ someone.

But how could it ever be? He was a star, and Sam a human, one from a realm without magic. His life amounted to a brief candle next to Gadreel's. Sam would age and grow old, and his bones would turn to dust, and Gadreel would never age a single day.

And Sam had plans. He would surely meet a fine young lady one day, and marry her, and have children of his own. Gadreel would follow Sam as long as he could—despite Sam's protests, he knew finding another candle to return him to the sky impossible—but Sam would one day dismiss him from his company, or die far too soon, and Gadreel would wander Eden all alone for eternity.

The glow in his chest faded, and his heart felt cold, frozen over within his chest.

But he had a sense about him, something tingling in the back of his neck; a warm beacon which called him out to the others on the ship. He'd felt it before, just before Castiel had arrived in the inn. He had been frightened and withdrawn when Balthazar had helped them, but he had sensed something in the pirate captain he hadn't been able to place.

A star, perhaps? And if so, did other stars reside on this ship? If so, perhaps they could offer words of wisdom to him.

He moved to sit up, attempting to keep his movement graceful and easy as to not awaken Sam. Of course, Gadreel had not truly mastered movement at all in his eons of stillness, and the rustling of cloth and his feet upon the floor roused Sam from his sleep.

"Wha—? Gadreel?"

"You should rest, Sam," he said. "I am going to take a walk."

The human tried to awaken, but seemed to fail. "Your... mmm... ankle?"

"Healed," he said, moving to guide Sam down into the bed. He followed without hesitation. "Go to sleep."

Sam made a noise between a hum and a murmur, and Gadreel took it for some sort of acquiescence. For a moment, the star slipped down into the seat the human had just occupied, watching Sam as he slept fitfully.

"Rest," Gadreel whispered, moving to place a hand along the side of Sam's face. The skin there felt warm—flushed, even; his breathing unsteady and labored. Gadreel allowed his fingertips to press gently into Sam, and he found himself wishing he had some special power to impart rest or healing upon him.

Sam made another noise, this one pleasant, and his face turned into Gadreel's touch. His voice mumbled something unintelligible, and slowly, his breathing began to even out. And after several minutes, he had fallen into a deep slumber.

Gadreel retracted his hand, but not without some regret. As he gathered himself and stood, he drew back in surprise as he glimpsed himself shining bright, light reflecting in the mirror across the room. Had he shone the entire time he'd caressed Sam's cheek?

The light cooled as he observed, leaving his lips curled into the barest hint of a frown. He had to maintain vigilance about his light, since stars seemed to face much danger within Eden.

The door to the guest room presented difficulty, heavy like a stone, but with patience it gave way. He glanced to his right, observing the staircase which led up on deck, and the pathway before him, which led to Balthazar's cabin. He considered both his options, and decided to speak to the captain. Perhaps he would have some idea of what Gadreel should do... if he were, in fact, the star Gadreel thought he might be.

Also, Gadreel remained garbed in only a thin undershirt and ill-fitting pants. The captain had requested Gadreel to seek him upon awakening so he might find proper clothes for him. And the star had to admit, the outside air would likely feel too cold to tolerate otherwise.

How odd that he'd worn his blue, silken tunic for millions of years and never felt any discomfort at all. But the Moon had woven it of the fabric of Heaven, which existed for the stars. But those precious clothes had all burnt up in the inn, when he'd nearly died.

He moved to knock on the door, only to have it swing open before he could do so.

"Ezekiel! You're awake!" he greeted, enthusiastic. "How delightful!"

Gadreel frowned at the strange name, then recalled Sam had referred to him by it earlier. Perhaps it held a measure of deception, to protect his identity from others?

"Indeed," he answered. After a moment of deliberation, he continued. "And my name is not Ezekiel."

"I couldn't tell," Balthazar chuckled, and the sarcasm made him smile, just a little.

"I am called Gadreel."

"Ah yes, the Guardian Star of Eden," Balthazar finished. "Welcome aboard my ship, brother."

Gadreel missed only a beat. "I could feel the Moon’s light within you, and thought you might be like me." He paused a moment, and glanced towards the window. "The Star of Wisdom."

The star cackled, bright and full, and it drew Gadreel's eyes once more.

"Wise? Me? Father had no idea what he was doing when he named me! I'm nothing but a hedonistic, hopeless fool!" He stared Gadreel up and down, and sighed. "Come here, darling. Let us get you some respectable clothes. You can't stroll around in those."

Gadreel frowned, but considered it, as he truly did want some new clothes. "I do not wish to inconvenience you. I cannot repay you."

Balthazar quirked an eyebrow. "I have many clothes, brother. Every time I get rid of something it comes back into style, so now I just keep it all. I can part with something for your sake." He paused, an amused grin on his face. "After all, brother, you're wearing underclothes. What would Sam think to see you strutting about in such a state of dress?"

Gadreel felt a deep, warm blush coloring his cheeks, and nodded.


	6. Attracting Trouble

Sam hadn't meant to do more than nap beside Gadreel. Honest. He'd even sat upright in the chair, just propped up so he wouldn't fall into a deep sleep or anything. And yet, somehow he'd had a dream. Or a nightmare, one with gigantic monsters with long teeth, like fire-breathing dragons.

He jumped awake, only to find himself in the very bed he had once slunk down beside to guard—minus the charge he'd intended to keep watch over. A quick glance about the room revealed nothing but wooden walls and empty air, and so Sam assumed Gadreel must have gone for a walk at some point.

Well, there _were_ other stars on board. He probably left the bedroom to catch up with his family. So for once, Sam didn't feel alarmed. Much.

He rested his head upon the pillow, curling up with the warm, thick blanket left behind. It smelled of starlight and silk; of pleasant things he didn’t know how to name. The bed should have lulled him asleep, but he found himself tossing and turning, unable to stop wondering what had become of Gadreel.

Giving up on the notion of sleep, he rolled over to his feet, his long legs stretching out on the smooth, wooden floor before him. The ship floated about peacefully, and if Sam closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he stood upon the ground.

Almost. It still felt different. Strange.

He had somehow tumbled into the bed, shoes and all, after Gadreel departed. Though he had a strange memory of the star speaking to him, and touching his face. A dream, perhaps?

He stood upon tired legs and stretched. He guessed he'd been out for two, maybe three hours. He would get proper sleep later that night, he promised himself. He wandered outside into the hallway, only to see the captain's cabin shut across the hall. With the windows streaming light everywhere, lighting his path, he decided to go up on deck. Perhaps down to the crew's quarters if Gadreel had wandered there.

He ascended the staircase and pushed open the door, and his eyes squeezed shut in the bright, beautiful sunlight. The evening sun hung low on the horizon, and would soon give an outstanding view of the sunset.

Sam's eyes caught Balthazar's figure across the deck, hovering near the ship's great wheel. He waved his arms about, perhaps explaining something to the man next to him.

No, Sam realized, not a random passenger or crewmate, but Gadreel himself.

He stood tall in a fine blue tunic, not unlike the one he'd worn when he'd fallen (though not scorched by flames and tattered by mud and stone). A dark, black jacket kept him warm from the chilled wind, and from Sam's vantage point, it seemed like leather or suede, perhaps. A pair of dark pants and sturdy boots adorned his lower half, and of course, the pendant which had knocked him from the sky in the first place finished out his outfit.

Balthazar hadn't been kidding when he'd said he would find 'fitting' clothes for Gadreel. He looked more breathtaking now than he had at any point Sam had seen him.

A woman approached Sam, her lovely dark curls blowing about in the wind, framing a pale face and bright green eyes.

Somehow, Sam knew at once he beheld a star. Her eyes held the same celestial quality, as though staring through a lens into the heavens. And yet, they didn't seem any different than normal eyes. Perhaps Sam could perceive a thing others could not. He sighed, chiding himself for thinking such a prideful thing.

"Hello," she said.

"Hi." He smiled at her, warm and eager, and tried not to ask the question on his mind. Would she think it rude to abruptly ask if she were a star?

"Gadreel seems to be taking to the ship well," she said. "It's so wonderful to see him again."

Yes, family then. Definitely a star.

"I'm just glad he's all right," Sam said.

"Thank you for taking care of our brother," she said. After a beat, she chuckled, her voice a song floating in the air. "I'm sorry. How rude of me! My name is Hannah."

"Sam," he greeted. "It's great to meet you."

She smiled, the brightness of it lighting her entire face. She nodded towards Gadreel. "He said you promised to put him back in the sky."

"I will," Sam affirmed. "I had a Babylon Candle, and... well, I should have let him use it straight away, but I acted foolishly. A witch came after him, and…." Sam's hung his head, and he felt shame all over again at his prior selfishness. "I'll find another, even if I have to spend all my life doing it."

She nodded, her eyes crinkled with warmth. "Have you considered perhaps Gadreel doesn't want to return to the sky?"

Sam blinked. "What?” Had the plan not always been to go home to Wall, then return him to Heaven. “But why not?"

She smiled. "Why are any of us here? It isn't because in hundreds of years we've never seen a Babylon Candle, or found another path home."

Sam considered it. "You guys like it here?"

"We do," she said, motioning to the ship at large. "I do. I enjoy the feel of the rain against my skin. The excitement and fear of hunting lightning. The laughter and merriment of man. I love life here. Up there, nothing ever changes, but down here, it changes all the time."

He crossed his arms, eyes scanning over the horizon. The sun sunk lower in the sky, beginning to fade from yellow into a darker, deep orange. The horizon held just a hint of pink about it.

"Just now," she began, pointing up to the bright Evening Star, "the first of us has awakened for the night. And as the sun yawns, others shall begin to stir. They stretch in their places in the firmament, preparing themselves to glow so all the world may watch."

He followed her gaze, his eyes settling upon the star. "Who is the Evening Star?"

"That is Michael," she said, "the brightest star in the night sky, and the only star to ever return."

Michael? He had heard the name before. "Wasn't he the first king of Eden?"

She nodded. "Would you like to hear the story of how that came to be?"

Sam felt a rush of excitement, rippling through him in a delighted shiver. "Yes, please!"

"The Moon made Michael first, and Lucifer second. Michael reigns as the Evening Star, but Lucifer once twinned his light as the Morning Star."

Sam frowned, as he couldn't recall ever seeing a bright, early morning light in the sky. But he did not interrupt Hannah's storytelling.

"Lucifer watched humanity and grew to despise them, and thought stars should not have to shine just so humans might find their way. He wanted to use our holy light for other purposes, so the Moon ordered Michael to cast him from the sky. Lucifer fell to Eden, where he twisted the first witches and warlocks to follow him, teaching them secrets of Creation no human should ever know. And when the star Uriel fell by accident, Lucifer captured him and showed the witches they could regain lost youth by eating the heart of a star. They cut it from his chest and divided it into three parts, and the three oldest witches became young women once again.

"But more stars began to fall, and Michael learned Lucifer had used ancient magic he had no right to use to drag them down from Heaven. In his anger, Michael journeyed to Eden in a blaze of light, and sought out his brother to stop him. But when he found Lucifer, his best pupil had betrayed him—the Witch Queen we call Abaddon. And she began to wage a war to subdue all the creatures of Eden so she might to rule the realm, lusting after youth eternal as she used the stolen power of stars in a profane way."

Sam watched her gesture eagerly, as though telling a favorite story. He felt honored to learn of such legends from the mouth of a star.

"So Michael led a brave army of men against Abaddon. Together, they conquered the witches of Eden and they went all but extinct. Today, there exist but a few, and most of their practices have fallen into legend."

Sam frowned. "But Abaddon still remains."

"As well as her sisters," Hannah added. "Ruby, the most loyal, and Meg, the most cunning. Together, the three witches are nigh unstoppable when at full power. They were all Lucifer's darlings.”

Sam fell into silence as he stared off at the horizon. The pink edge of the sky had gone bright and golden, and the clouds seemed to glow as the sun sank close to the horizon.

"Hello, Sam."

The voice caught him by surprise, and he turned to see Gadreel there, smiling, his eyes alight with joy.

"Well, look at you," he sputtered, unsure of what to say. He felt his skin flushing, and blinked, glancing down and away.

"I will leave you two," Hannah said, politely nodding at Gadreel.

"Hannah," Sam said, "thank you for the story."

"I have more if you would care to hear them," she said. "At a later time, of course."

Sam couldn't stop the grin which split his face. "I'd love to!"

She returned his smile, and turned, gliding away towards another member of the ship’s crew... perhaps a star, perhaps not.

"I find I approve of your hair," Gadreel said, his smile not faltering.

Sam chuckled, and couldn't stop himself from reaching up to touch it. "It's different, but I like it too. It makes me feel more... serious, I guess."

"I have never thought you otherwise."

Sam chuckled, and avoided the topic. "But look at you. You look amazing! Balthazar made you look like a proper lord or duke or something."

Gadreel's smile changed, almost imperceptibly, but he seemed flattered, so Sam didn't worry about it too much.

"Thank you," he said. "I hoped you might approve of it."

Sam turned, his lips parted, and he had to school his features carefully. What had _that_ meant?

"Is this view not lovely?" Gadreel asked, moving on from the topic before Sam could even broach it. "I've not seen anything like it."

"Didn't you see sunsets and sunrises from where you sat in the sky?" Sam asked.

"Yes, but they did not appear the same. I saw them from the other side, you see. They seemed bright, blinding; but not colorful. Just immense light, everywhere, calling us to dim our light and sleep. Or the fading of the light, to summon us awake so we might shine."

Sam thought about it a moment. "Sounds kinda weird. Backwards from down here."

"Indeed," the star agreed. "I never imagined something could seem so _beautiful_. Look at all these wondrous colors. I have never had the honor of witnessing such a wonderous thing."

For a time, they stood in silence, the both of them admiring the outstanding shades of gold and red. Despite his earlier embarrassment, Sam found the silence comforting, and smiled as he stared out at the sky. He had seen many sunsets, but none from the vantage point of the birds. The light streamed across the tops of the clouds, providing a truly magnificent show. The clouds glowed, trimmed with the richest gold, and for a time they seemed more like shimmering water than puffy clouds.

He watched the last sliver of the sun slip below the cloud-horizon, and sighed with contentment. The sky still held it's bright glow and splay of colors, but within a few scant minutes they would fade in earnest, giving way to the darkness of night.

He tilted his head back, stretching where he stood, and saw the first faint stars to follow Michael's awakening in the darkening blueness above him.

"Where does the sun go when it's night?" he asked, curious.

"To sleep, of course," answered Gadreel. "It must rest just as we stars do."

Sam grinned. "You know, they teach us back in Wall the stars are furnaces of gas and energy, unimaginably far away."

Gadreel tilted his head, seeming to consider it carefully. "There may exist realms where such a thing may hold truth I suppose." After a moment, his curiosity got the better of him. "But how do you know they are so far away? Does someone travel to see them?"

Sam shook his head. "No, they stare at them through telescopes." At Gadreel's blank expression, he elaborated. "These devices. They use mirrors to amplify light and make it so they can see things far away. But we don't go there. They say they're so far away it takes hundreds or thousands of years for the light of stars to even reach us."

Gadreel tilted his head, his face curious, then something akin to a laugh slipped from his lips. "How... imaginative. I think the stars of your realm sound far more exciting than us. We are simply beings which glow in the night."

"There are probably a lot of people in my world who think the very opposite." Sam smiled, watching the last of the golden hues fade from the edges of the clouds. "I didn't expect you to be... well, you know. Walking, talking, that sort of thing."

He turned toward Gadreel, tearing his eyes from the horizon. The star stood watching him, shimmering faintly, and again Sam wondered what the light meant. Perhaps fallen stars just shone every now and then? He couldn't help but feel a bit shy, and frankly, he felt ridiculous about the whole affair.

"I think you're a lot more interesting than what my books taught me, Gadreel," Sam admitted. "I'm glad we met."

The star's shimmer grew, and it seemed to stream from every pore, every corner of his body, and Sam thought it lovelier than any gem or treasure. Not bright, not truly, but no less amazing to behold. Sam idly wondered if the others on board shimmered too. Perhaps Gadreel would learn to control it, and eventually stop. Or maybe it remained as a leftover of his time in the sky? If he did it back on the ground, people would notice, and think it strange.

"I am, too," he said. "Though, I regret the trouble I've caused you."

At that, Sam shrugged. "I feel like I was self-centered when we met," he said. "I could only think about the swordsmith and getting the big lump of star rock back to him." He felt his cheeks flush hot with shame.

"But Sam," Gadreel said, his voice gentle, "the moment you saw my injury, you offered me your candle. You had a willingness to help me, a perfect stranger, with no perceived benefit to yourself."

Sam wanted to disagree, to explain he hadn’t been selfless at all, but he bit down on the urge. He had done his best ever since, and that mattered most, right?

"Yeah, well, the moment you mentioned going with me back to Wall, I felt so excited I couldn't think of anything else. I thought I’d done such a great thing, that I could help myself by helping you, and I could feel good about it." He sighed. "And fat lot of luck I've done you so far, hmm? The candle's gone and wasted, and now you say you're bound to me, and you're no closer to home than when we started."

Gadreel seemed at a loss for what to say, and for a moment, he said nothing at all. The shimmer which threatened to light the deck of the ship faded to a mere glitter.

Wow. A star, indeed.

"You know, if it helps, I release you from that bond, or whatever it is."

Even the faint glimmer ceased as the star's head shot up. "Pardon me?"

"You know, you said you were bound to follow me anywhere. You don't have to do that."

Gadreel's smile had faded. "But I am to accompany you to Wall. To meet your swordsmith!"

Sam stared at him, and it felt as if his heart might crush while still inside of his own chest, and he didn't even know why. "I know. But you don't have to. I won't make you go. I'll still keep my promise, and find you another candle, and—."

"And you think I would break my own word?" Gadreel cut him off, a fiery edge of anger in his voice.

"What? No, that's not what I meant…”

"Sam Winchester," the star responded, tempered anger in his voice, "I gave you my word I would go to your home and speak on your behalf to this swordsmith. And in the time since we have met, you have kept me safe, risking your life and your well-being to protect me from harm. And you expect I would just leave you?"

Sam had no idea what to say. "But you have your own life, Gadreel. You get to decide what happens in it. You shouldn't be bound to me, or anyone else. You should be free."

The star stared at him a moment, the lines around his eyes softening, and he sighed. "I _am_ free, Sam. I am freer than I have been since my creation. I know the feeling of the rain upon my skin. I know the throbbing ache of a broken ankle. I know the warmth of a borrowed coat. I now know the beauty of sun when it lies down to sleep. And now, I know the loyalty of a trusted friend." He moved closer, all anger gone from his voice. "And I do trust you, Sam. I have never had a friend before."

He shut his eyes, unable to keep the smile from his lips, though he tried hard to fight it. "You're too nice to me, Gadreel. I'm not really a good man."

"I know wickedness," Gadreel responded. "I have stared down upon Eden for thirty million years, and I have seen many wicked creatures come and go, and far fewer good ones. Trust me when I tell you this: You are a good man, Sam Winchester."

He swallowed around a lump in his throat, and had to turn away, his cheeks heating for all the strangest reasons. How had he earned a star’s friendship, and why did it make him feel so giddy inside? He didn't even care about the swordsmith anymore. Sam had just wanted out of Wall. And now. And now…

And now he had become distracted. He had his mother to find in Eden, and also needed to find out what became of Dean, Castiel, and Adam.

"And if I am to make my own choice," Gadreel said, "I would choose to go with you. I would like to see your home."

His words, calm and gentle, broke Sam's terrible train of thought.

"I'd take you home to meet my father," he said, voice quiet. "And we'd sit down and have dinner together. Well, I know you don't eat, but you'd be welcome at the table. And I'd show you the great oak tree in woods behind home where I played as a little boy and dreamed of adventures." He paused. “And I could show you the town’s cherry tree, where I saw you fall as I sat underneath.”

"I would like that," Gadreel replied, and when Sam glanced up, he saw the star seemed entirely serious.

A weak smile warmed his lips. "I'd like to see your home, too.”

"That would be difficult," Gadreel answered, "but... I suppose if you believe, perhaps it might be possible."

At hearing his own words reflected back to him, Sam laughed.

 

 

Later, if pressed to recall his time spent on the Celine, Sam would name it as one of the happiest times of his life. The crew provided delightful company, and Sam came to know many new stars by name, along with their friends. He felt surprise as he witnessed a few human romantic companions of the stars, and it rather vaguely ticked at a spot in his head which he wanted to address, but didn't quite know how. And so, as he was good at doing, he ignored it entirely. He had things to do, and important issues to address.

Balthazar had set the ship’s course towards Wall, with the intent to make port some forty miles out. As he'd been told, it provided the closest port in all Eden to Wall, and thus the farthest the Celine could ferry them and still provide any sort of safe landing. Gadreel remained quite adamant he had survived one fall, but could not hope to survive another. Sam had never survived any fall, and knew he couldn't survive at all if things came to jumping from high up in the sky.

The trip took several days, and Sam had never had more fun. He'd been swordfighting with members of the crew, who taught him tricks he'd never even seen before. Balthazar made a gift of a well-crafted sword after they’d been dueling for a time. He and Gadreel worked with the crew in a fierce rainstorm to capture lightning, and they both whooped and cheered when they succeeded. They spent every evening dancing to lovely music, both familiar and yet not. Anna taught Sam how to dance, while the stars took turns dancing with Gadreel.

Occasionally the others would glow or glitter just a bit, when the evenings felt peaceful and merry, and they seemed in harmony with the sky around them. Gadreel glowed sometimes, and Sam rather liked to see it. He knew he would miss his star terribly, but he hoped he could somehow find another candle, or at least another way to get him back into the sky soon. He knew the star must miss home.

He nearly tripped over Anna's foot, breaking him from his daydream.

She tsked at him, but it came with a smile. "You're not paying attention."

"Sorry," he apologized, feeling sheepish.

She gave him an indulgent expression, and took his hands, guiding him into the steps once more.

"You'll have to work hard, you know," she said.

"It's just dancing."

She snorted. "No, not that. Though, if you can't dance, how can you even say you've appreciated your life?"

Sam thought it over. "I can't say I agree. I like other things plenty well, and I think I appreciate life."

"You just haven't danced with that one special someone yet," she said, and grinned. "When you do, the world just disappears around you, and it's only the two of you."

He didn't think anything could seem so magical, but he was kind enough to not say so. But then, the stars had an exciting view on the things he saw as unremarkable, and he rather admired their unique wisdom. He decided he would remember her words, just in case it came true.

"You'll have to work hard to keep him hidden," she said, her voice low. A smile still rested upon her lips, but her eyes had turned intense and serious. "Balthazar has been coaching him to hide his emotions so he might not give himself away. You will do well to keep him unseen whenever possible."

Sam frowned. "He can't hide from the world forever."

"No," she said, "but he must until he can control himself."

Sam thought it over, and imagined it must be the glimmering light the stars sometimes had. The same thought occurred to him as well before.

"And he must pretend to eat. At least to try. I know we need neither food nor water, but people will find this strange _very_ quickly. He should at least pretend. Even if we don’t need to, we can. Some of us even prefer it, time to time."

Sam thought about it, and nodded. "I'll try to convince him."

"He won't think about it on his own. He'll need your help."

He considered it a moment, but felt the same sinking worry in his chest he'd felt off and on for days. "Wouldn't he be safer here, with you guys? I could go and find a candle, and meet you at a port somewhere."

She shook her head. "Balthazar already asked him," she said, "but he insists on going with you."

Sam frowned. "Even with the Witch Queen after him?"

She nodded.

They danced a while longer, and Sam lost track of time until he brushed shoulders with Balthazar on accident, who danced with Gadreel.

"Well, hello Sam!" the vivacious captain cooed. "You know, I think I'm getting a bit jealous. You're keeping Anna there all to yourself. I think we should trade partners!"

He glanced over at Gadreel, who shimmered just faint enough Sam questioned his eyes. With a nod to Balthazar and Anna, he moved to take Gadreel's hands, and slowly, but surely, the man and the star began to move together, gliding across the deck to an unknown tune.

The faint glittering became a warm glow, and Sam realized as he danced with Gadreel his star felt joyous and content. And Sam knew he would always do anything to keep Gadreel's spirit so warm and bright.

 

 

His brother possessed adept skill at many things, but landing a ship was not one of them.

But they had landed safely, if not without bumps, and everyone had a fun time. As Gadreel stared over the edge of the railing at the deep, crystal clear waters, he felt a pang of worry encroach upon him for the first time in days. He again would travel upon the ground, where the witch might find him.

But Sam stood with him, and he knew the human would do anything he could to keep him safe from harm. Yes, Sam would watch over him. Sam would do anything he could to protect him.

He felt the warmth of his glow in his chest, and shut his eyes, trying—and failing—to control the warmth. For a moment, he glimmered with his own light until the weight of his frustration quieted his shine.

His light lacked the intensity of his true self. He didn’t quite know why, but he could not shine as he had in the sky. He had tried once, but though his heart felt warm and strong, he could not gather the power. It had a strange, heavy feeling about it, but also lighter than air, and it did not feel stained or restricted. He did not know why he could not shine.

It supposed it fortunate. He would have blinded anyone nearby, and destroyed any mortal’s body, unless they were held tight within his arms. In any event, he had no cause to risk such a thing.

It came time to bid his brothers and sisters goodbye (but not farewell, they'd said, for they would again meet), and set off down the road to Wall. It felt difficult for him, after a lifetime of loneliness and singing in the sky, only to hear the echoed songs of his siblings. But here, now, he had _touched_ them, kissed their faces and smiled as they smiled. He’d heard tales of their loves and interests and joys, and even of their sorrows. To part with them after _truly_ meeting them for the first time tore at him.

And yet, the thought of staying felt worse, for Sam would not stay, and Gadreel knew he must go with him. Not only because he had become bound to Sam, for even if that were not so, he knew he would follow him. No, he had a promise to keep. The market town laid forty miles west, and if they secured a means of transportation, they could still return in time to speak to Sam's admired swordsmith.

Gadreel would do this for Sam, even if it meant he would leave him.

He climbed down the ladder, balancing himself upon the solid ground. He stared above, back at his brothers and sisters smiling down at him. They lived, and had found peace and happiness with their life upon the ground. They had no desire to return home.

Gadreel wondered if he could ever know happiness with such a life. As his eyes settled upon Sam, he knew it had become thus, and he could no longer deny the love he felt for this young human.

Balthazar had called him foolish for falling in love with a mortal, but the deed had already been done, and so instead his brother taught him how to hide his emotion so he would not glow. It had presented much difficulty, but remained possible if Gadreel remained diligent with practice.

The daytime did not present as much urgency, but the darkness of night deserved the utmost of attention. The sunlight could conceal his shimmer, while the moon would only amplify it.

Thinking of Sam made his made his heart burn hot, and sometimes Gadreel could imagine himself as one of the stars from Sam's stories; huge and fiery and powerful, consuming everything with the bright fire inside of him.

But could Sam ever choose him? Gadreel did not know how to ask. He did not know if humans considered it proper to ask such things. His siblings had urged him to speak of the matter, but they were all stars. How did humans, especially humans from beyond Eden's borders, react to such declarations?

Gadreel wished he had paid attention to the lands beyond the wall of Eden.

“Good luck on your journey home, Gadreel,” Anna called down to him, “wherever that may be.”

Sam moved to climb down the ladder, but Balthazar stopped him. As Gadreel watched, he leaned over to whisper something in his ear. As Sam pulled away, his brow furrowed, his jaw agape as he stared at Balthazar.

"Just think about it, lad," he said, and waved. "Now, take care!"

As they climbed the nearby hill, Gadreel could not contain his curiosity. "What did he tell you?"

"Hmm?" Sam's head snapped in his direction. It seemed as though his mind had been far away.

"When Balthazar whispered in his ear. What did he tell you?"

"Oh, uh…." Sam's voice trailed off. "He said we might barter some of the trinkets they gave us to get a candle for you." He held up the rucksack which carried their supplies for emphasis.

Gadreel didn't know why he felt disappointment. "Oh."

 

 

Abaddon growled at the image of her sisters, foggy through the opposite side of the mirror.

"Look at you," Meg growled. "You've squandered most of your youth, and you've broken the blade."

"It wasn't my fault," Abaddon hissed. "Another star arrived, and I had to flee via spell. And now I can't locate either of them."

"We're still looking for the other one," Ruby broke in before Meg could complain, "but the one who fell almost a week ago has reappeared. It seems he has been airborne for a while, but now he is on the western trade route." Her tone spilled over with accomplishment.

"If you hurry," Meg added, lips drawing up into a sly grin, "you can catch him. You can cross the marshes and intercept him."

Abaddon ground her teeth. “It will be a near thing.”

"Then I suggest you hurry," Meg said, "unless you wish to return and let one of us take him in your place?"

The Witch Queen rolled her eyes. "I'll bring him here, and we'll use the other sword to cut his heart out. Make preparations for my arrival."

With a wave of her hand, the spell evaporated, and the apparitions of her elderly sisters vanished. She adjusted her position in the seat of her appropriated coach, and sent another spell to the horses.

 _'To the market town at the wall,'_ her ghastly voice commanded, every letter a whip upon their backs. _'To Wall, and quickly!'_

 

 

Adam had once visited the market town at the wall as a child. It laid far from home, unimaginably so for a child, but it had been magical. Even among the mysteries and wonders of these sorts of markets, this market town had all sorts of exquisite, amazing things, some purportedly smuggled from the other side of the stone wall outside of town.

Beyond there, they said, lay another world. Beyond there, another universe turned on a different axis, where things both great and terrible happened.

Adam had never tried to cross the wall as a child to go to this magical place called "Earth," but he had seen plenty of children sneaking away to do so. They all returned hours later, bruised or crying, and so he knew from a young age whether or not it led to another universe mattered not, for no one ever crossed the wall.

Political intrigue and drama had drawn him away from such childish fancies, but now he stood here again, his eyes roaming across a strange map of this supposed ‘Earth.’ He smiled fondly at the memories. If he’d not been on a rescue mission of sorts, he might even buy the map.

But he had no time for such things at the moment. His runes told him the necklace had either already arrived in the market town, or would soon, and so he passed on the information to Dean and Castiel. If he found the star and explained his situation to him, he knew he could convince the honorable celestial spirit to part ways with the pendant. And if Castiel had spoken the truth—if Adam’s father's final selfish act for his own amusement had served to knock Gadreel from Heaven—Adam would take every measure to return Gadreel home upon becoming king. A holy star should not suffer for a wicked man's amusement.

Even if the wickedness at hand came from his own father. Adam had loved him, but he knew the miseries he’d done to others, and made no attempt to excuse his terrible behavior.

"Let's fan out and split up," Dean said. "We got to find them before they go and try to cross the wall."

 

 

Gadreel's eyes settled upon a sign, which he approached with some interest.

"Sam, look."

The human turned, and came to stand beside him.

"Thirty-six miles from Wall," he said, voice distant.

Gadreel shook his head. "That is unfavorable."

"Hmm?" Sam's brow furrowed, his nose scrunching just a bit, and Gadreel found it strangely endearing.

"Tomorrow night is the expiration of your bet with the swordsmith," Gadreel reminded him. "If we do not return in time to give him my sword, you shall lose your chance to become his apprentice."

Sam blinked twice, as though stunned.

"Ah, yes. That's right. Well remembered," he said, but he sounded faintly disappointed. Of course he did, Gadreel thought to himself.

"We must procure a method of travel," he said, "or we shall never arrive in time."

He continued down the path, his steps brisk. With his broken ankle healed, he felt joyous at the ability to move without pain. He did not require Sam to carry him any longer, and thus could not slow their progress as he had in the beginning.

Sam's hurried footsteps raced up behind him. Gadreel did not have opportunity to ask why before Sam's arms locked around him, dragging him into the brush alongside the road.

Gadreel blinked up at Sam from his new vantage point on the ground, with the human's body hovering atop his own.

"Do you mean to break my ankle anew?" he asked, making an attempt at humor.

"Shush," Sam breathed, and one large hand came to rest upon Gadreel's shoulder as the human nervously glanced beyond the bushes. "There's someone passing by. I can't risk you being seen."

Try as he might, Gadreel could not keep his heart from glowing hot as Sam's hand lay warm against his shoulder.

Sam remained silent, occasionally gesturing at Gadreel to keep quiet, but the star could only stare back in wonder. All the opportunities in the world, all the strength... and Sam had never once indicated he wanted to steal Gadreel's heart.

"Are you not tempted?" Gadreel breathed.

Sam, who had been staring between two branches, turned his face back to Gadreel. Confusion furrowed the lines of his forehead.

"By what?" he asked, voice low.

Gadreel almost hesitated, but he grasped Sam’s wrist, tugging his hand from his shoulder to rest upon his heart.

"Immortality."

The confusion slowly drained from Sam's face, and Gadreel could only best describe the expression as 'tired.' Or perhaps, just maybe, mild surprise.

"What if it were not _my_ heart?" he continued. "Not _my_ life at stake. What if it were a star you did not know? Would you not be tempted?"

Sam exhaled through his nose, the soft puff of breath ghosting across Gadreel's cheek. A tiny, but thoughtful smile rested upon his lips.

"Do you really think I could take a knife and cut out someone's heart, while they begged me for their life?" he asked.

Gadreel felt the glow in his heart burn stronger. "No. I know you could not."

Sam's eyes focused on a spot in the bushes over Gadreel's head, his gaze going distant.

"Even if I could," he murmured, "immortality sounds so lonely. Unless, maybe you had someone to share it with."

"Someone you love?" Gadreel ventured.

"Yes," he answered quickly, but his gaze remained distant, and did not settle upon the star. "Maybe then it would be different. Maybe it wouldn't be lonely, but exciting."

Gadreel watched the distant expression on Sam's face and felt his heart cooling within him, sinking heavily in his chest. Any shine he'd had evaporated away like mist in the sunlight. Sam would one day experience delight and peace with the one he loved, but Gadreel would never know the privilege and joy of such a thing with Sam.

His pleasant mood cooled entirely, and he almost didn't hear Sam when until he tugged at his arm.

"I think it's safe," he said. "Let's go."

Gadreel stood to his feet, and followed willingly.

They traveled along in silence for a time, Sam ever vigilant about his surroundings. It took a full hour before the human in his company began to relax. Gadreel's mood brightened as well, as he enjoyed the sound of birdsong in the air. The sunlight felt warm, but relaxing, and soon Gadreel could forget he had troubles at all.

They stopped for lunch by a lovely stream, which warbled and flowed through the shade of nearby trees. Gadreel rested his legs while Sam ate, and the star busied himself with studying the shapes of the flowers and the greenery growing along the stream banks, but nowhere else. Perhaps the other plants felt thirsty, he wondered.

Just as they finished up, Sam stood and stretched. "You know, I've noticed you kind of glow a bit at times. Is everything all right when that happens?"

Gadreel smiled to himself, and began to make his way along the well-traveled path. "I wonder if you can determine the answer for yourself. I am a star. What do stars do?"

Sam smiled, and began to giggle. "Attract trouble?"

Gadreel turned his head towards him and glared, and felt the urge to dunk him in the brook.

"I'm kidding!" Sam shouted, and burst into uncontrollable laughter. His mirth felt contagious, and so Gadreel began chuckling as well, and soon the star learned how one might laugh so hard and long his stomach would hurt.

"Do I get another guess?" Sam asked between bellows of laughter.

"No," the star answered, unable to compose himself. "You do not get another opportunity to answer until tomorrow."

"Aww, come on. Please?"

Gadreel found he could not resist Sam when he wore such an endearing expression. "Very well. One more chance."

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but all at once, the color drained from his face. "Someone's coming!" he said, and grabbed Gadreel about the waist and dragged him into the ditch, hiding underneath a small water bridge.

Gadreel thought to inform him of his capability to hide under his own power, but he enjoyed Sam's closeness, so he thought better of it.

As the hoofbeats approached, Gadreel peered over the edge of the sodden barrier (much to Sam’s dismay), he saw only a woman, pulling a bright yellow wagon.

"Sam," Gadreel pushed. "This woman may give us a ride."

"No," he said. "I can't risk you like that."

Gadreel gave him a glare before climbing out of the ditch, much to Sam's protest.

"Excuse me, madam," Gadreel called out, waving his arms. "Greetings to you."

Sam grumbled as he climbed out of the hole after the star, sending him a frustrated glare. "This isn't a good idea."

The woman pulled on her horses’ reins, tugging them with a direction to stop. A dainty bluebird, perched on a ledge above her, sang a curious song.

"Well, hello there, young sir," she greeted, her dark hair brushing across her face. "What can I do for you?"

"Nothing, we're just moving on," Sam quickly answered.

"We travel to Wall," Gadreel said. "Could you possibly—."

"Then I'd thank you to get out of the road, young man," she interrupted, not even deigning to acknowledge Gadreel's words.

Sam blinked, and took a surprised step backwards. Gadreel sighed and followed suit. He felt a measure of disappointment, and wondered how else he might convince her… at least until the woman let forth a mighty shriek, unlike any noise the star would have thought her capable of making.

"That's _my_ flower!" she howled, deftly hopping down from the cart. "Twenty-one years I've been searching for that flower, since that fool of a maid gave it away!"

She stomped towards Sam in anger, though Gadreel had no idea what a woman so light and thin could hope to accomplish against a man as tall and sturdy as Sam.

"How dare you! That flower was a gift from his mother!" Gadreel argued.

At once, Sam unsheathed the sword Balthazar had given him. He didn't threaten her with it, but the blade in hand and lowered at his side seemed to be enough for her to stop.

"Ah. I see," she said, voice nervous. "Hmm, I must be mistaken."

"Yes. As he said, my mother gave me this flower, which passed to me by my father’s hand on the commencement of my travels."

To Gadreel's eyes, she seemed pained, as though she couldn't quite decide what to do.

"Perhaps we've gotten off on the wrong foot, hm? I'm a mother myself, so I understand how dear the thing must be to you," she said. "Let us start over. My name is Eve."

"Sam," he answered, cautious.

Gadreel sighed. "I am—."

"And I wonder," she interrupted, still not staring in his direction, "perhaps I could interest you in parting with the thing? I've been in need of a little luck."

Sam frowned, casting a quick, if baffled, glance in Gadreel's direction. "Well, would you happen to have a Babylon Candle?"

Gadreel's heart lurched in his chest. No! Sam couldn't give up his only relic from his mother to obtain such a thing for him!

"I don't trade in black magic!" she said, perhaps a bit too stridently, and Sam and Gadreel again shared a look.

"Really," Sam commented, voice flat. "Huh. Well, how about passage to Wall?"

"I don't cross the wall," she said, but her lips quirked in consideration. "But... I do happen to be on the way to the market town about a mile from there. In fact..." She crossed her arms, staring intently at the flower. "If you'll let me borrow the flower for a fortnight, I shall give you safe passage to the market town, _and_ I'll return your flower when I'm done."

Sam quirked an unimpressed eyebrow. "Intact?"

"Of course!"

"You won't switch it out with any other snowdrop?"

"Not at all," she said. "I'll even give you another one to carry around until I'm done. Yours is far superior to mine, and I want to study the charms which made it. I sell these sorts of flowers, you see. Good luck charms and the like. You could help a lot of people by spreading the luck around!"

Sam glanced over at Gadreel, and the star could see him clearly considering it, even if they both knew she dealt in dark magic of a sort.

"I am uncertain this is wise," he cautioned. Typically he would not say such a thing aloud, but the woman had seemed keen on ignoring everything else he had said thus far, so he would return the deed in kind.

Sam's expression turned pained, and he turned back to Eve. "And we'll arrive safely at the market town?"

She held up a hand, as if making an oath. "I swear, you shall arrive in exactly the same condition you as you stand now, all safe and sound. I'll even give you food and lodging along the way."

"And how will I find you to get my flower back?"

She held up her hand, and snapped her finger, and a soft, blue light twinkled around the glass blossom in his jacket pocket.

"There! Now, I swear to you, young man, this flower is now bound to you. It will find its way back to you! I could no more keep it, even if I wanted."

Sam bit his lower lip, and again glanced at Gadreel, as if seeking guidance.

Gadreel tilted his head. "The charm is legitimate," he admitted. "She cannot keep it beyond a fortnight."

"Don't just stand there as if a mute fool!" she chided him. "What do you think?"

Sam gave her a highly annoyed glare, but he took the flower from his pocket and handed it to you. "I think we have a deal."

Eve's fingers closed around it, and she seemed delighted. "Oh, poor boy, do you have any idea what you've just given me?"

"A glass flower," Sam answered, "which brings good luck."

"Indeed," she said. "This is a frozen charm, capable of miracles and wonders when in the proper hands." She held it high, and smiled. "Such as this."

She held the flower high, and brought it down lightly, tapping the center of Sam's forehead. At once, the flower enveloped the human in a gray-white light, swirling about him like smoke.

Gadreel took an alarmed step backwards, fear seizing him everywhere. "Sam!" He snapped his head towards Eve. "What have you done?!"

When the smoke cleared, a tiny, brown mouse sat upon the ground, chirping and squeaking.

"Oh, don't be so sour, young man," Eve chided, bending over and taking him into her hand. "I'll change you back as soon as we arrive. You'll be as handsome as you ever were."

Gadreel stared at her in open shock, his mouth agape. "You... you witch!" he shouted, running at her.

He would not allow Sam to remain with her. But the oddest thing happened, and no matter how he tried, he could not approach her. An unseen barrier stood between them, and deep within the wind, the star thought he could hear another woman's incantation:

_You shall not see the star, touch it, smell it, or hear it. You will not perceive it, even if it stands before you._

The force of the incantation pushed him backwards, and Gadreel stared slack-jawed as Eve made her way to the back of her bright, yellow wagon.

"You can neither see me nor hear me," he breathed, following her. "Can you? Answer me!"

She said nothing, instead climbing into the wagon and placing Sam into a small cage.

"There you go," she hummed, tapping the cage with a finger. "Safe and sound, just like I promised. Don't worry, little mouse. You'll be breaking the young ladies' hearts at the wall soon enough."

Gadreel ground his teeth, watching her arrange materials unknown to him. He thought of a thousand insults to throw the woman's way. She smelled terrible, and for all her youth and potential beauty, she had adorned herself in rags. Her hair sat atop her head in a great mess, knotted and tangled as though she'd no idea how to care for it.

"I will get my Sam back the way he was," he growled at her, "or I shall haunt you every moment of every day until you lose your sanity from the mystery of what torments you."

She climbed from the cabin of the wagon back into the seat, taking the horses' reins about her hands. Gadreel quickly moved to climb into the wagon, just making it inside before the whole thing lurched and the horses began to pull away.

After steadying himself, he crawled over to the cage.

"Sam? Can you understand me?"

The star groaned to himself as soon as he said the words, for Sam sat before him as a mouse. He could not easily answer him.

"If you can understand me," he pleaded, thinking desperately of a way they might communicate, “look upon me now."

The mouse continued to explore its cage, seemingly oblivious to the star's words.

Gadreel sighed, settling down to sit beside it. Nearby hung a wad of cheese, of which he broke off a chunk and held it for Sam. The mouse sniffed it, then snatched it away, holding it between tiny hands and nibbling at it.

"Perhaps you were correct when you said I attracted trouble," Gadreel told him, leaning back against the wall to keep watch over his human.

The bluebird flew inside, chirping at Gadreel. He noticed a delicate silver chain about its foot, and he recognized its enchantment.

At least the fair creature could see him. Or did he gaze upon a creature at all?

"Are you truly a bird?" he asked it, "Or some other creature this witch has tricked?"

It sang a lovely song to him, but the star had no idea what type of answer it might be.


	7. Brighter Than the Sun

At some point along the journey, Gadreel noted they had made excellent progress—far better than they should. Some sort of magic seemed to hurry the cart along towards its destination, but he had no idea what it might be. 

The cabin smelled rich, heavy with the scent of all sorts of flowers. Roses of such a dark red they almost seemed black, encrusted in crystalline glass. Tulips of every color adorned one shelf, all frozen forever as they stood. Tiny blossoms, white and gold and green and every color imaginable, tinkled and shifted everywhere.

Gadreel studied them all, his eyes washing over them, wondering if one of them had the power to undo what had been done to Sam. But even if one did, the star knew not how they worked, nor what they might do. If he tried flowers at random, he knew he might make the situation worse.

Eve had shouted at the bluebird after it had been singing a while, and it returned at her beckoning. The star felt sorry for the bird, being chained to such a dreadful woman. But he had other worries at the moment, such as Sam’s current status. 

"Are you all right, Sam?" he asked, and shook his head. "Though I do not know how I expect you to answer me, much less understand my words. I do not speak the language of mice, if there exists such a language."

The Sam-mouse turned beady eyes upon him, before seizing the nugget of cheese Gadreel had given it earlier. He held it between tiny hands, and nibbled at it a moment before setting it back down. 

Gadreel thought of taking him from his cage while they traveled, but he knew he could not afford to set a mouse down, lest it run free and escape the wagon. He would have no ability to alert the witch of Sam's escape, and any hope of ever seeing Sam turned into a man once more would vanish. So he simply stared at the tiny mouse.

It had occurred to Gadreel he might reveal things to the mouse he may never have opportunity to say to the man. At first, he had dismissed the possibility as ridiculous and cowardly, but his heart felt equal parts bursting and breaking, and perhaps if he simply said it to Sam, he might find some relief from the emotion which consumed him.

"I have stared down upon Eden for thirty million years, Sam," Gadreel murmured, staring at the furry, brown mouse. "Humanity seems such a complex creature, and one I have often pitied. So consumed with greed and evil, I once thought no redemption could exist for such creatures."

Sam studied the confines of his cage, his tiny paws closing around the bars. He sniffed at the air. 

Mice were such strange creatures, the star thought to himself, but not without their charms.

"But then I had occasion to witness humans discovering love, long ago when your species was yet new and only just learning to speak. I watched men take on incredible odds, all selfless, in the name of love. And intrigued, I thought perhaps these creatures could be redeemed after all. Perhaps they have learned a beautiful thing. And so I came to love humanity from afar, and admired how you loved one another."

Gadreel sighed, wrapping his arms around his torso. The evening chill had become uncomfortable, and he had nothing to cover himself with.

"I lived in Heaven for millions of years, pretending I was not lonely, telling myself I felt content to only watch this beautiful thing from afar. My light remained strong, but cheerless. I knew I would never find a love of my own, but I told myself I was a star, and therefore had no duty to love, but to shine.” He paused, his eyes roaming over Sam. “I never imagined I might one day do both."

The mouse had stilled, and the star wondered if he might want to settle down and rest. Sam had been quite active all evening.

"You've asked me why I 'glitter' at times, Sam," he whispered, as though a secret. "I shine because of you; because of the joy you bring me. Because... I love you." He drooped his head, his eyes sliding shut. "I feel as though my heart might blind all around it at times when I think of you, when I find myself hoping you might love me in return—even if I know you do not."

He opened his eyes, and looked up at Sam, who appeared to sleep. 

"If you asked me for my heart, I would give it to you freely," the star whispered, "and I would never ask for anything in exchange, except to know your heart sings with joy when I am near... as mine does when I am with you."

A small smile warmed Gadreel's lips. "Whither thou goest, there also I shall go." He lifted his eyes, and stretched his hand out to touch the cage. "I would have it no other way."

The mouse did not move, and the star sighed. "But first, I shall see you made a man again. Somehow."

A flutter of blue out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned his head to see the tiny bluebird had returned. He did not know how much it had heard, but he supposed it did not matter. He held out his hand to it, and it hopped into his palm without hesitation.

"Will you keep a star's secret, lovely little bird?" he asked it. "Shall the knowledge of my love for Sam remain safe with you?"

It chirped once, a lovely, beautiful note hanging in the air. The star could not help but smile. 

The pace of the wagon abruptly changed, and Gadreel glanced out to see them on the border of a town. He frowned to himself, wondering again how they had made it so quickly, and how it had snuck up on him so—but then, he did not understand the workings of Eve's magic. 

He knew little of modern magic, it seemed. He only remembered the old, ancient magic his father had sung when he created all the realms. Magic no one could use; magic no star or human or other creature dared to attempt.

The bird flew from his hand and perched upon a rail, staring down at the cage which held his Sam. He wondered if the bluebird felt lonely. He resolved to speak to Sam on the matter, when he again became human. 

The peaceful quiet of the countryside faded as they rode into town, turning to music, laughter, and the din of hundreds of voices. The darkness encroached upon the evening, turning into night. The star shivered in the cold, but he could not resist poking his head out to stare at the lights and wonders of the market town. What an fascinating place.

The wagon came to a stop in a small opening, as though it had been waiting on Eve's arrival (and perhaps it had). She hopped from her seat and moved to climb into the wagon, and Gadreel only just got out of her way in time. She threw open the cage and took Sam's mouse form into her hand, petting at its head with her free hand. Gadreel noticed Sam's snowdrop blossom in her coat. 

"There now," she cooed. "Just as I promised. Lodging and food along the way."

Gadreel followed her out of the wagon, panic seizing him as he wondered what she meant to do with with his beloved. 

She set the mouse upon the ground, snowdrop in hand, and tapped the top of his head, and Gadreel watched as the same white-grey smoke enveloped him. It rose as a bright column, and when it evaporated away, Sam stood there, looking bewildered and somewhat ill. 

"You... you..." he sputtered, took a single step, and toppled to the ground. 

Gadreel fell at his side in an instant, muttering his name as he brushed the hair from his face.

"Transformations can leave your brain a bit scrambled," she snickered, tossing another snowdrop charm on the dirt before them, "but you'll be all right in the morning. The wall’s a mile east, and beyond it you’ll find the town of Wall." 

She patted her pocket, where she'd placed Sam’s snowdrop. "And I’ll keep my word. Your charm will find its way back to you by a fortnight—once I've learned why this tiny blossom has tormented me so!"

She sauntered away, and Gadreel glowered after her. But seeing as she could not perceive him, he shook his head and turned all his attention to Sam. 

"Can you hear me?"

Sam, dazed, blinked at him, and gave him a lopsided grin. "Chuck?"

Ah. The swordsmith.

"Not precisely," Gadreel answered, voice sour. He glanced about, and noted the nearby inn. "Here, let us get you to bed. We do not have to greet your swordsmith until tomorrow." He took the abandoned snowdrop in hand, and tucked it in Sam’s coat pocket.

With inordinate effort, the star managed to get Sam upon his feet, and stumbled towards the tall, wooden inn with his human leaning heavily upon him. Gadreel began to sweat after only a few steps, and he wondered if Sam had labored as much when he'd rescued him from the crater with his broken ankle. 

Firelight twinkled in the windows, and upon entering, the star felt some trepidation at the coziness of the location. The last time he'd been in a comfortable inn, the innkeeper had been a witch who'd meant to kill him.

Thankfully, this inn did not seem quite so cozy, and at first glance, the innkeeper seemed a shrewd businessman. And indeed, he gave him an odd look when he asked for one room, but acquiesced.. at least until it came time to pay him.Gadreel had no money, and didn't know where Sam had stored the coins Balthazar had imparted upon him.

"I'll take that for payment, if you like," the innkeeper told him, pointing at his necklace. "You could stay here a whole week for that."

Gadreel glanced down at the pendant, and remembered the young man who'd seemed so interested in it, back in the inn with Abaddon. But he could not part with it, not until he found who it belonged to. "I am sorry, but I cannot deal it away."

Sam, barely conscious, produced a leather coinpurse, which the star took from his hand. "Ah, how much?"

"Fifty for the night," he remarked. 

Gadreel stared at the strange assortment of shapes and colors in his hand, and realized he had no idea what to give him. 

"Good heavens, ya need two of the silver ones," the innkeeper explained. "Don't you know how to count?"

Gadreel gave him an apologetic glance, and decided it might benefit him to plead illiteracy. "I hail from a distant part of Eden. I've never seen these coins before, and my companion is too... _distressed_ to help."

The innkeeper sighed, and his harsh demeanor seemed to ease a bit. "Yeah, he seems a bit sloshed, eh? Guess he's lucky to have you lookin' out fer 'im." He leaned over the counter. "Look, people'll take advantage of an honest man in this town, so ya better take care, eh? Let me show you."

The innkeeper took a moment to explain the value of the coins, and told Gadreel not to flash the coinpurse about, lest a thief pilfer it from his pocket. And unexpectedly, he helped Gadreel carry Sam up the stairs, and into a room down the corridor. What a kind heart this businessman had.

It had a window which overlooked down the bustling street, giving them a vantage point for a portion of the market. It had a chair with odd feet, which rocked back and forth when the star sat upon it. And it had a tub, along with a tall screen for privacy. Gadreel recalled how wonderful his only other bath had been, so so eagerly accepted when the innkeeper asked if he would need hot water for a bath. 

He saw to Sam's comfort in the bed straight away. The pillows seemed soft, he noted, and the blanket thick and warm, so he covered his human's body with it while he slept and recovered. Afterwards, while waiting for the maid, Gadreel felt drawn to the wooden chair and the view of the street below. He sat for a time, rocking the chair back and forth, and found he quite enjoyed the motion, and even more so, the view. He watched as children passed by on the street, some with their parents, and others working for various stalls. He listened to howling and whooping, to shouting and snickering, and the near-melodic peddling of some clever salesfolk. 

He had watched from above for millennia, and felt comfortable again watching the comings and goings of man—even if from a much closer distance.

Eventually, the maids arrived with steaming water, and Gadreel had to shush them as they giggled, pointing to Sam's slumbering form in the bed. They quieted, but one of them fawned over Sam—and the other seemed to fawn over him, to his mild embarrassment—and it took great effort and much convincing to finally see them out. He shut and locked the door behind them, and moved to shut and lock the window as well. The sound at once quieted, only a faint din of the market below remaining.

As an afterthought, he set his silver sword upon the table. The Moon had woven it from His pure light, and Gadreel did not wish to get it unnecessarily wet. He would part with it soon enough, in any case.

Gadreel checked Sam again, who still slumbered, deep and still. He tucked an extra blanket about him, securing it to the bed, and moved to the other side of the screen to the tub. He removed his clothing and folded it with care, setting it upon a nearby rack so it would remain dry. It wouldn't do to ruin the clothing Balthazar had so kindly given him. A single gray robe hung off the corner of the rack, and while it seemed neither warm nor appealing to the eye, it would do its job. A set of equally drab towels sat folded, neat and even, just beside it. 

The water felt amazing to his tired limbs, and Gadreel settled into the tub with no small amount of relief. He recalled Hannah's words, of how she enjoyed the feeling of water upon her skin, and Gadreel felt inclined to agree. The cold rain he'd felt pelting his skin days earlier had been quite unpleasant, but this? This experience left him with an altogether different emotion. He even felt his heart regaining some of its glow as he settled into the contentment of the bath. 

He didn't know quite how long he sat there, soaking in the water. It had been a while, and the star knew he'd grown drowsy, for when Sam’s voice broke the silence, he flinched in surprise. 

"Careful," Sam said, his voice clear and apparently quite awake, "don’t fall asleep. It’s unpleasant to wake up to a faceful of water."

Gadreel drew in a startled breath at the sound of the human's voice, shifting in the tub. He turned his head towards the direction of the voice, only to see Sam peeking out from behind the screen. 

At first, Gadreel turned his head away, momentarily flustered and embarrassed at his nakedness. He knew such things were not appropriate in human culture, and his siblings back aboard the Celine all wore clothing. But he decided he did not mind if Sam saw him, for if he followed Sam for the rest of the human's life, he would need to overcome any awkwardness. But the point became moot: by the time the star turned his head back towards Sam, the human had retreated back to the other side of the room. 

Flustered, and uncertain what to do about it, Gadreel stood, exiting the tub. He took one towel and dried himself, and wrapped his body in the robe when finished. 

As he rounded the screen, he saw Sam's eyes trained upon him, and felt self-conscious. Had the human been watching his shadow, outlined upon the screen? He certainly wore an odd sort of smile on his lips, and Gadreel had no idea of its meaning. 

"Have you recovered?" Gadreel asked. “Do you feel better?”

"Yes. Much." His smile didn't falter, and the star began to feel uneasy, especially when it seemed Sam struggled for words.

"You were glowing," Sam stammered. "In the tub, I mean. I didn't mean to upset you, I just... it's very... beautiful."

Gadreel felt himself blushing, a rush of warmth bubbling up in his chest. He tried, and failed, not to shine. At least it he contained it _somewhat_.

Sam seemed stuck on his words, a faint red blush coloring his cheeks. "You're doing it again."

He glanced down at his hands before meeting the human's eyes once more. "I am a star," he said, hoping to deflect the topic.

Sam seemed to fight a grin, and when he couldn't, Gadreel stood in awe of it. The warmth of his face seemed more radiant than the sun itself.

"I thought you said you glittered because of me?"

Gadreel froze in place, a sickening worry taking hold of his chest. The glow vanished immediately. 

"You heard me?" he breathed, voice strained. When Sam did not answer except to chuckle, Gadreel shook his head. "But you were a mouse! How could you understand me? I asked you to give me a sign!"

Sam stood, and closed the distance between them in two paces. He lifted his hands to touch his shoulders, and Gadreel felt his heart stutter in his chest. 

"You would have been embarrassed, and stopped saying those wonderful things!" Sam protested with a smile. And he kissed Gadreel’s forehead.

Gadreel inhaled sharply, and it felt as though time itself had frozen. His stomach felt unsettled and too-light, and even his skin felt strange, as though prickled by the air. 

"Gadreel," he breathed, and the star thought his name had never sounded more revered, not in thirty million years of shining in the sky. "My heart does sing for joy when you're with me, but I don't need you to give me your heart. I want you to keep it in your chest, so I can love you and take you everywhere, and show you everything, and so I can spend the rest of my life trying to do something worthy of your love."

The star struggled for words, but his throat had gone dry, and it took an inordinate amount of effort to speak. "My heart is yours all the same, whether it beats within my chest, or you hold it in the palm of your hand. It belongs to no one else."

Sam's smile became so bright Gadreel knew for certain he could outshine a star, if he had but the power to shine. 

"Balthazar told me," Sam murmured, his hand lifting to touch Gadreel's cheek, his thumb tracing the star's jaw. "He told me I'd find no greater joy in life than loving you, and that my own happy ending stood before my very eyes."

Gadreel could not contain his light. His chest burst with it, spilling over like a too-full cup. If the window had not been shut, he would worry all the town might see him glowing. 

"And he was right," Sam finished, voice soft. 

He leaned forward and kissed Gadreel, and the star knew he would never leave Sam's side again.

 

 

Gadreel had never known anything could feel so warm and gentle as Sam’s lips. And his hands left trails of fire in their wake, running up and down his back, uncaring of the soaked robe.

The star knew the topic which hovered at hand. He had seen many young men and women in the fields at night, making love under the starlight. All alone in his place in Heaven, having never known any touch at all, he’d wondered how such an experience might feel. Would it heat his skin? Fray his nerves? Make his belly feel strange and ‘full of butterflies’, as he’d heard mentioned in his brief time in Eden?

And now, the prospect of such a thing seemed at hand, and he felt all of these things, and more.

“I’ve never done such a thing as this before,” he murmured, his eyes slipping shut as Sam’s breath ghosted over his moist lips.

Sam smiled. “Neither have I.”

He moved to kiss Gadreel again, his tongue sweeping into the star’s mouth, eliciting a gasp from the star. So he tried to kiss Sam in kind, mimicking Sam’s motions, desperate to learn how this dance of bodies might work.

Sam pulled away, breathless.

“We don’t have to,” he said, voice clear and serious. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Gadreel.”

Gadreel searched his eyes, lifted a hand to splay over the curve of his cheek.

“Shall you allow me to stay with you?”

Sam’s smile threatened to blind him. “Forever, Gadreel. If that’s what you want.”

Gadreel held Sam close, worried the light from his skin might harm his human. But Sam seemed fascinated, his fingertips lightly trailing across his hair, his hands, his neck—any exposed part of his skin.

“Then perhaps we might learn together?” he ventured, hoping Sam would say ‘yes.’ “I want very much to do this.”

Sam grinned, and kissed him again, his fingers dragging through Gadreel’s soaked hair. His fingertips massaged his scalp, and Gadreel sighed against his lips.

“Can I touch you?” Sam breathed, his hands dropping to the belt of the closed robe. “Can I... can I take this off?”

“I fear I might blind you,” he admitted, “but if you remain close to me and shut your eyes, I can protect you from my light.”

Sam made a face. “I can’t look at you at all?”

Gadreel gave him an apologetic stare. “You can, but at times, you may need to shut your eyes. Forgive me. I have not yet learned total control of my light.”

Sam smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Okay. That’s fine. So long as we don’t bring anyone running into the room.” He chuckled, his voice sonorous, lilting through the room like birdsong.

The star could not help but chuckle, his heart singing with joy. His fingers tugged at Sam’s overcoat, his eyes drifting shut. “May I touch you as well?”

Sam smiled in answer, and drew Gadreel in his arms, soaked robe and all. And they peeled away their clothing, piece by piece, until they stood naked before one another. Sam led him to the bed, and moved to cover him with his body.

Gadreel had never dreamed to experience such a thing, not once in his thirty million years. The touch of skin to skin, the joy of stolen kisses and sighs of pleasure; they held pleasure beyond anything the star had known possible. Sam touched him as though he were sacred, as though he carried purity and holiness about him in some tangible way. The slide of them together felt messy and wet, but the intensity of the pleasure had Gadreel gasping for air, panting Sam’s name with every lungful.

He fought every moment to control his shine, and considering the situation, did a better job than he’d thought possible. But as the pleasure grew and grew, a cord of tension winding deep in his spine, he knew he would lose control soon. He reached up, covering Sam’s eyes with his hand, and gasped warnings to him to keep his eyes shut. And as the pleasure crested, as he cried out his human’s name and writhed beneath him, he feared hurting him at the same time.

But when he opened his eyes, Sam laid atop him, panting and gasping for air himself—and most importantly, he seemed entirely unharmed. The same crest of pleasure seemed to have overwhelmed him, too.

Gadreel allowed his head to fall back upon the pillow. “I wish to do that again.”

He smiled, his giggling bright and amazing, and Gadreel thought he would enjoy listening to him forever.

“Me too,” he panted, burying his face against the side of the star’s neck.

 

 

“You are nearly upon him, sister!” Ruby encouraged. “He’s in the market town, and it seems he’s stopped for the moment. He’s resting a mile east of the gap in the wall.”

“Likely stopped for the night to rest,” Meg added. “Keep riding through the night, and you should intercept him in the morning if you have no further delays.”

Abaddon huffed at the sheer stupidity of her sisters.

"You speak as though this is a good thing," she growled. "Have you aged so much you've forgotten everything? Wall, and all of Earth beyond it, is not a part of our universe. If our star crosses the boundary, it will turn into a useless lump of rock." She shook her head. "We need a living star, not a pile of stardust!"

“Then hurry,” Meg warned. “We shall continue looking for the other one. Two stars are better than one!”

Abaddon growled, and waved her hand, dismissing the apparitions of her sisters. She sent a bolt of magic to the horses, no different than the crack of a whip. 

‘ _Faster_ ,’ her spell-voice commanded them as they sped up into a full gallop. ‘ _Faster_.’ 


	8. Of Witches and Broken Hearts

Sam awoke in the predawn hours, when the earliest light peaked from behind the window shutters, dark blue before the sunrise. He turned his head to see Gadreel, sleeping in complete peace beside him, wrapped up in the thickest blanket Sam had been able to find. 

Perhaps he should have put the star back in his clothes, but Gadreel had wanted to remain near Sam… and Sam had no protests at all.

He carefully climbed out of bed, taking care not to disturb his slumbering star. His clothes sat draped upon a nearby chair, and he struggled to dress in silence. 

On the table across the room sat Gadreel’s sword, forged from his own light whilst he’d shone in heaven, high above. Sam had no intention of becoming the swordsmith’s apprentice any longer, and he could not allow Gadreel to part with the holy blade. 

But, just as Gadreel felt an obligation to return his pendant to its owner, the very same jewel which had knocked him from the sky, Sam felt he had to see the swordsmith and explain himself. He could not allow the swordsmith to keep Gadreel’s blade, but he would show it to him. 

He took the silvery blade in hand, lightweight and warm to the touch, and wrapped it in a length of silk. He packed it with care in a satchel, and made his way downstairs. But he lacked paper on which to write a note, and went in search of it. 

The man snoozing in the chair downstairs did not sound like the innkeeper from the night before, and Sam frowned. Probably an employee of his? 

“Excuse me?” he asked, shaking the man’s shoulder.

“Argh,” he grunted. “What?”

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Sam apologized. “Do you happen to have paper, and a quill?”

“Ask me in a few hours, when the sun’s up,” he responded.

“I can’t. I need it now.” When the man didn’t quite respond, Sam sighed. “Can you at least remember a message for me? My traveling companion still sleeps, and if I’m not back soon, he’ll wonder where I’ve gone.”

He blinked his eyes open, heavy with sleep, and grunted, nodding. “Sure. What?”

“Tell him I’ve gone to see the swordsmith, but I am not to be his apprentice. I’m sorry, but I’ve taken his sword to show him, because I feel the obligation, but I don’t want to drag my… friend… all the way there.”

The man nodded, and stretched. 

“Oh, and I’ll be back before lunchtime.”

As Sam made his way out the door, he glanced back to see the current innkeeper seemed to have gone to sleep again. 

Oh well. He’d indeed gone out at an ungodly hour. Hopefully he would return before Gadreel worried too much.

The market town seemed all but deserted at this hour, as still and quiet as Wall in the early morn. Some salesmen slept next to their wagons, keeping watch over their goods. Horses and other beasts of burden slept nearby, their snoring some of the only sounds to break the silence. 

A few earlybirds wandered about, awake at this unthinkable hour. Sam smelled something cooking nearby, reminding him of fresh cherry pie. A baker down the street yawned as he trotted to a bakery, a sack of flour on his shoulder as though it weighed nothing. And as Sam passed, he noted the baker had already opened shop. With a thought for Mr. Singer at the wall, no doubt keeping guard, he stepped inside to buy something.

As he made his way towards the gap in the wall, the morning dew coated his boots, and the fresh smell of the earth delighted his senses. He knew this land; it looked and smelled just as Wall did in the early morning. 

As he came into view of the wall, he could see the grassy fields and distant trees on the other side of it, and wondered how a simple, stone wall could separate such such different worlds. Other forces surely intervened, and Sam decided to leave the mystery well enough alone. 

When he reached the gap, he hopped through easily. It felt no different than hopping over a stone, and certainly not as though crossing into another world. 

Bobby Singer, expectedly, flinched in surprise to see him pop through the gap in the wall.

“Good morning, Bobby,” he said, and offered him the pastry he had bought. “I got this for you in the market town. I’m making a quick visit before returning later.”

The guard stared at him suspiciously, but accepted the food. “You look different, Sam. Older. Like you’ve grown up.”

Sam just smiled at him, and nodded. “I’ll be back later!”

The path to the Duke’s estate felt much as the walk to the wall had been: lovely, grassy, and delightful. The sun had risen, and the light danced off all the dew, which would soon burn off in the warm morning sun. Perhaps in a day or so he would return here with Gadreel and introduce him to his father, and his friends in town. But he had to do this particular task now, before the swordsmith left for a distant part of the world. He owed him that much, after pestering him for so many years.

The estate popped up on the horizon, beautiful in the morning sunlight. Sam felt no small amount of relief he didn’t work there any longer. 

 

  


 

Sunlight streamed in through the window, and Gadreel stirred, sighing happily in the warmth. He glowed, and knew he had for the entire night while he slept. He had never shone in his sleep, nor had he ever slept through the night. But his heart spilled over with so much joy and love he’d seemed unable to stop, and thought he might never stop shining again. His light now glowed for Sam, and if Sam thought it beautiful, he would never, ever want to stop.

The sunlight might have awoken him, but a strange tug pulled upon the star. For now, he dismissed it, humming in the warmth of the sunlight, turning to smile at his beloved.

“I have never slept the night through before,” he began, but froze when he realized the bed beside him sat empty. 

He stretched out a hesitant hand, and found it not only empty, but cold, which meant Sam had left quite a while ago.

The tug upon him pulled harder, and he could almost hear words, concealed in the air. His light ceased abruptly, and confusion settled into his mind. Perhaps Sam had just gone to fetch breakfast? And the strange pull resulted from a longing for Sam’s presence?

The star dressed himself, intent on speaking to the innkeeper. Perhaps he had seen Sam leave. But when he descended the steps, he saw a different man than he’d spoken to the night before. 

“Excuse me,” he began. “My companion seems to have left. Did you see him go?”

The man nodded. “I think so. Tall man, like you? Long, dark hair, and big eyes?”

Gadreel nodded. The tug upon him grew stronger, and he had to shake his head to pull away from it.

“Yeah, I saw ‘im go. And he left a message for ya. Said he’s gone to see a swordsmith about becoming his apprentice, and he was obligated to take your sword with ‘im. And that he’s sorry, but he didn’t want to take you with him.”

Any light in Gadreel’s heart went out all at once, his chest turning to ice. “What? No, that can’t be.” At the man’s shrug, he pressed, near-frantic. “Was that all? Did he say more?”

“No. Sorry, mate. I think that’s that. But you’re all paid up for the next night, so yer good to stay.”

For a moment, the star simply stared at him open-mouthed. But Sam wouldn't do such a thing, would he? He stumbled to the door and stepped outside, and felt himself dazed with grief. Sam had taken his blade. Sam had followed his dream to become the swordsmith’s apprentice. 

Gadreel turned his head aside as tears welled up, and only just managed to keep them from streaming down his face. Sam had followed his dream, and so Gadreel told himself he should feel pleased for him. After all, he was human, and Gadreel was a star. They could never be, could they? Sam had comforted him… and lied.

But how could he lie? Sam had never lied since they met. Had Gadreel done something wrong? Had he angered Sam, or pushed him away somehow?

‘ _Whither thou goest_ ,’ he heard—no, _felt_ , ‘ _there also I must go_.’ 

The Moon’s words and the creed of his people called to him. The tug he felt pulled him towards Sam. They had not separated once since Sam had injured his hand to save him, binding them together. Now the binding rite dragged at Gadreel. His human had reaffirmed it all the more powerful the night before, hadn’t he?

Regardless, it pulled him towards Wall, and the gap which lead to another world. Gadreel knew it, and held no power to resist it. Sam would have to release him from the oath which bound him, for the obligation of Gadreel’s kind made it impossible for him to not follow. 

As he stumbled by a bright, yellow wagon—perhaps even the one which had brought them to the market town—a woman dressed all in blue lunged for him, her voice frantic as her reach fell just short. 

“Hey! No, stop! You can’t go there!” Her blonde hair flew around her as she struggled in vain, a silver chain about her ankle holding fast. 

In a part of Gadreel’s mind, the only part not in a daze, he wondered if she held any relation to the bluebird he’d seen in Eve’s caravan. But the thought dissolved amidst his anguish. 

Broken-hearted and numb to all around him, he stumbled towards the gap in the wall, after Sam. 

 

  


 

Adam had enjoyed many similar mornings in his time traveling Eden. The air felt crisp and fresh, and the market slowly awakened, both in sound and smell, as the early risers sought breakfast and refreshment before setting about another day. The scent of fresh bread wafted through the air, and as he moved to a new street, the rich, heavy smell of livermush. The young prince had never favored it, but knew the dish held quite a following in the more distant reaches of Eden. 

This market town had grown large and rowdy, nearly a sprawling city in its own right. He recalled a report an economist had written once, informing his father the marketplace would decline and evaporate within a scant decade. But as Adam strolled the streets, enjoying the morning air, he simply could not understand it. It had become larger than ever, and just as lively and bright as one could imagine.

But he hadn’t journeyed here to enjoy himself. He’d come to find Sam and Gadreel. Adam had checked his runes a half dozen times over, and they all told him the pair should reside within the market town, somewhere. Dean and Castiel had set about checking all the inns and other places one might seek a night's rest, while Adam searched the streets and early morning eateries for any sign of the Eden foreigner and the star. 

So far, though, they'd had no sightings. It seemed Sam's lucky charm did more than hide him from evil; it also hid him from anyone who sought him. 

A carriage approached from the far end of the street, black as night and drawn by beautiful black steeds, and Adam deftly stepped out of its path, taking the moment to lean against the stone wall of the building. He kicked at the mud as he waited for the carriage to pass. What had become of Christian, he wondered? He had seen no trace of his brother in nearly a week. Perhaps he had traveled here also, searching for the pendant. Perhaps another foul fate had befallen him. Adam could not know, not yet. 

The carriage passed by, and as Adam’s eyes examined it, he realized it had no driver, which seemed strange in its own right. It held but a single passenger within: an older woman, with red-tinged but graying hair, dressed all in green and black. 

He narrowed his eyes, a frown curling the edges of his lips. He had never seen the old woman before, and yet she seemed so familiar. As he resumed his hunt for Sam and Gadreel, he attempted to push the incident from his mind, but he could not banish the ill feeling in his gut. If he had seen her before, then where? When?

A few minutes later, treading through the streets as he continued his search, a terrible thought befell him. Had the passenger not resembled the red-headed witch from the inn, seeking youth eternal by stealing the beating heart of a star?

But how could he know for certain?

Right there, in the middle of a muddy street in the market town near the gap in the wall, the young prince dug in his satchel for his runes. Once found, he dropped his satchel to the ground, uncaring of the mud, and cupped the stones in hand, bringing them close to his lips.

"Is the woman in the carriage Abaddon, the witch from the inn?" he asked them.

He tossed the runes into the air, and caught them in an outstretched hand. They scurred about in his palm, and all moved into a singular configuration. _Yes_.

Adam's heart stuttered, and an even more terrible worry overcame him. 

"Is she following the star?" he asked, and tossed the runes again.

_Yes_ , they told him.

His hands trembled. "Does she know his location?" And once more, he tossed them into the air.

_Yes_.

Adam snatched his satchel from the ground and took off in a dead run. Dean and Castiel searched the grounds on the far side of the market town, and he had to inform them immediately.

 

  


 

The estate bustled with activity when Sam arrived. Servants moved to and fro, preparing everything for the morning meal. The animals lowed in their stalls, and the birds chirped overhead. 

He didn't bother with going inside the main house. He only wished to greet one person, and didn't need to meet with Azazel just to inform him he'd left his employ. His week-long absence probably had made it abundantly clear. And if Chuck had mentioned Sam's quest in the past week, Azazel would have sworn him off forever. Thankfully.

The swordsmith always slept in the guesthouse on the eastern flank of the estate, so Sam made his way there and entered inside. Fewer servants toiled here than on the main estate, but those present moved with purpose. Most didn't acknowledge Sam. 

He strolled about for a time, finding the swordsmith's quarters empty, and for a moment worried he had missed him. 

"If you're searching for Sir Shurley," a helpful maid piped up, "he’s working in the rear yard, fashioning a blade."

Sam thanked her, and made his way into the back yard. And there stood Chuck, polishing a large, beautiful sword outside in the dewy grass.

"Hello, Sam," he greeted, and didn't seem surprised to see him at all.

"Hello." He moved to stand opposite of him, staring down at the blade. "That's a nice sword."

"A scimitar, a weapon of great fame from the Far East," he explained. "I've been meaning to make one for a while, but I've been lacking the proper enchantments. It needs a drop of luck."

A week earlier, Sam might have thought Chuck's words mystical or eccentric. Now he saw them as wholly reasonable. 

"Can't say I brought any liquid luck with me," he remarked, "though there's quite a market town over there. I'm sure you could find some."

"Nah," he said, "snowdrop blooms only once every millennium. Far too rare to crush for its nectar." 

At first, the answer startled Sam, but it quickly made sense. He shook his head and chortled. "You're from Eden!"

Chuck finally glanced away from his work on the scimitar, and smiled. "Not quite," he announced, "but you're correct in thinking I'm from beyond the wall."

Even though he knew of many realms beyond Earth and Eden, it still boggled Sam's mind to think of so many worlds still beyond the wall. 

"You've returned, and I see the journey has changed you," he said. "Did you find the fallen star?"

"I did," he answered, and pulled the silk-wrapped blade from his satchel. "It's the most wondrous, beautiful thing I've ever seen." He held the silk to Chuck, who took it with a furrowed brow. “I didn’t bring you the star, but a sword made from its light. I wanted to show it to you. I can't make a gift of it, because I have to return it. But I wanted to show you... before I return."

He had wondered many times how this conversation might go. Chuck took the silk and unwrapped it, but to Sam's great surprise, Gadreel's blade had vanished. 

"I must admit," the swordsmith commented, "I do not understand the joke. “Why claim to offer me a star’s blade, but instead give me stardust?" Chuck glanced up, confusion coloring his face, and then dread overcame him. “Wait, where is the star now?”

For a moment, Sam simply stared at the pile of stardust, unable to answer. He stared. And stared. 

And realization dawned upon him, horrible and terrifying, and Sam could easily say he had never felt such crippling fear in his entire life. But the terror which seized his heart was not for his own sake.

"Gadreel can't cross the wall," he breathed, his voice a shiver.

And without another word to the swordsmith, Sam turned and raced with all his might back towards the gap, terrified Gadreel might try to follow him. 

 

  


 

Mary Campbell had learned the terror of her mistress when, on occasion, she had displeased her—not to mention how awful she'd treated her when she'd given away the best snowdrop charm to John, all those years ago. Eve had threatened more than once to kill her, among other colorful fates which sounded much worse than death. So Mary had spent much time simply surviving; hoping and praying to the stars above she would one day live to see her two sons. She had been fortunate enough to meet one, while the other had wandered into her life only yesterday. Fate could weave such strange webs.

And now, she would accept death as a punishment gladly. For a holy star, her son's lover, marched to his doom in a daze. She had to stop him. 

She’d admired Gadreel the moment she'd set eyes upon him. You couldn’t find creatures more pure-hearted than stars—or at least they began that way—and even though she'd never spoken to this star, or even Sam, she'd approved of him. He watched over her transformed son, reduced to a mouse in a time when Mary had been unable to complain. If Eve had known Sam were Mary's son, she’d no idea what the witch might do. So she'd kept her beak shut, and did not complain. But she'd flown in to watch Gadreel, who’d showed such beautiful light and devotion to her son. And he had spoken kindly to her, a tiny bluebird.

As a general rule, anyone kind to animals had a good heart. And she had seen him glow, and only a star with love and happiness in their heart could shine. And while Mary did not possess the magical skill of her master, she'd learned many things over the years by being the slave of a witch. 

Eve slept in the back of the caravan, and Mary panicked over what to do. Every step took Gadreel closer to the gap in the wall, which he could not cross, and seemed ignorant of the fact he should not try. But she could not run after him, for the enchanted chain around her ankle kept her bound to the wagon. She stood there, frightened and at a loss. 

Eve certainly wouldn’t allow her to go chasing after him. She couldn't even see him. 

She bit her bottom lip, and decided. Tip-toeing her way about, she shut and bolted the caravan doors, trapping her mistress inside. She climbed onto the seat, took the reins of the horses in her hands, and snapped them like whips. 

The startled horses whined, and took off in a full gallop, tugging wagon and all behind them. Mary set them on a course to the gap. 

 

  


 

Finally, the wall appeared over the hill, and the gap within it. Gadreel could see evidence of distant homes in the distance beyond. 

His heart ached in his chest as he neared it. He had no light to give; not even the faintest glimmer. He wished he could avoid this, avoid the draw which led him to Sam, and wished he had allowed the human to dissolve the tie which bound them. But the star had been foolish, and fallen in love. 

And love Sam he did, even now, with his heart shattered and aching. Even if he could fly back into the sky, he could never shine again. 

He stopped to stare for a moment. The gap seemed such a strange thing. He stared at it, noting it appeared as though a large piece had fallen out of the wall, with rubble all around it. Perhaps such a simple occurrence had been the case.

The pull called him beyond, and so he moved, lifting a foot to step on the precipice. 

"Stop!" shouted a voice, and urgent hands closed around his arm, yanking him backwards. "If you go through there, you'll die!"

He nearly fell in his bewilderment, but the woman's sharp call had broken him from the daze of the pull. He blinked down at her, this woman dressed all in blue, hair fair as the sunlight. 

"What...?"

"You can't go over there," she pleaded. "If you set foot on Earth's soil, you'll turn to rock."

For a moment, Gadreel didn't understand. Surely she had made a mistake. Gadreel lived and breathed, and nothing about him resembled a rock. But he recalled Sam's utter surprise when he'd found him as a living, breathing star, and how he'd expected to find a stone….

And it made sense. In Sam's world, falling stars did not live. They burned as bright flames, cooling to mere rocks when they fell. He could not cross, or he would transform.

He opened his mouth to question this woman, but the back of the caravan she'd been driving shattered, and out came Eve. 

"You miserable fool!" she shouted, and tugged upon the silver chain which held the woman. She fell with a shout, and try as Gadreel might, he could not pull her away. 

"Where have you taken me, you wicked slattern?" Eve hissed. 

The sound of horses neighing in the distance sounded, and the witch froze. The woman in blue clambered to her feet, standing behind Eve. As they watched, a dark carriage pulled by four black horses rode along the border of the wall. It slowed, and finally stopped beside them, and what remained of Gadreel's heart sank when he saw Abaddon emerge. 

She had aged considerably since their previous encounter, but the fierceness of her eyes remained unmistakable. 

"Planning to enter Wall, were you? If it's death you seek," Abaddon cooed, all sickly sweet and honeyed, "I would be delighted to help you." She moved closer, and touched his face, her fingertips tracing the line of his jaw. 

Gadreel turned his head away, disgusted by her touch.

"Are you talking to me?" Eve asked, voice small and frightened.

"Oh, look! It's you. Eden is such a small world," Abaddon responded, all fake sweetness. "Anyhow, no, I wasn't. I was talking to the star," Abaddon replied, as though it were obvious, but Gadreel knew Eve could not perceive him. 

Perhaps the Witch Queen toyed with Eve?

"What star?" Eve asked, confused. "I see no star, and my slave girl's certainly no star, or I'd have eaten her heart ages ago. Trust me."

Abaddon snickered. "Oh, I’ll not make such a mistake again, Eve." She took a step away from Gadreel, her eyes focused on Eve, and even the sky turned dark. 

Gadreel backed away, moving towards the solid part of the wall. The woman in blue joined him, slipping away from the tense situation at hand.

"What shall it be, Eve?" Abaddon asked. "Heads or tails?"

A maelstrom of magic tore loose, a storm unlike anything Gadreel had yet witnessed upon the ground. The two witches flung light and fire at each other, thickening the air around them with electricity. Abaddon shrieked and bellowed with maniacal laughter, while Eve strained and shouted with effort. 

Gadreel pressed against the wall, as though it might hide him. The woman in blue hugged him, drawing him closer, shielding him. 

And all at once, it ended. Eve's body dissolved into a pile of ashes. The silver chain about the woman’s foot snapped loose, and she gasped with surprise as she stared down at it. 

Abaddon appeared far worse for the wear, but she cackled regardless, her enchanted voice carried by the wind. 

"Ah, how much fun," she said. "I do love the chance to do art every now and then." She turned her eyes towards Gadreel. "Time to go, star."

The woman in blue stood tall, and glared at Abaddon. "He's not going with you."

The now gray-haired Witch Queen tilted her head, her crooked teeth bared in a terrible grin. "Don't worry, dear. You can come along."

The silver chain which had bound the woman in blue, which had come loose upon Eve's death, rose to wind about their joined hands. Gadreel stared at it, and gave the woman a forlorn glance. 

"Now," Abaddon began, pulling open the door to the carriage, "you can ride inside the carriage, or be dragged behind it. Your choice."

Heavy with sorrow over losing Sam, and with no other options, Gadreel made his way towards the carriage, the woman in blue beside him. As he sat inside, the door shutting behind them, he met the woman's eyes with great regret. 

"You came to help me," he said, "and I've led you to your doom. Forgive me."

She shook her head. "No, don't talk that way. We'll figure something out." She reached her free hand to him, gentle and soothing upon his face. "My name is Mary. I'm Sam's mother."

Gadreel said nothing, but felt such anguish well up inside of him he scarcely knew what to say. He had found his true love, and lost him, all within a few days. And now the Witch Queen led him like an animal to the slaughter, so the wicked might live off the power of his light. 

He did not know if any light remained for them to steal. Without Sam, he found he didn’t quite care.

She reached for him, her free arm wrapping around them. "Shush, it'll turn out all right. Sam will come help. He'll come save you. You'll see."

Gadreel wished he could believe her. 

 

  


 

Sam raced down the hill towards the gap, only to see Bobby dashing away, chair in hand.

"What happened?!" he sputtered, coming to a stop before the old man.

"Oh, be my guest, princess," he said, waving his arm at the gap. "All these years I've kept you young things out, when I should have been worried about what might come through! I quit!"

"What did you see?!" Sam demanded, nearly interrupting him. "Tell me!"

"Ah, well, where d’ya want me to start?"

The morning had been a quiet one, the silence broken only by the occasional bird chattering about, or the wind whistling about in the reeds. The two men stood, their voices indistinguishable from the wind in the cool morning.

An anguished, "No!" broke through the stillness, and Sam charged forward, back across the wall into Eden. All the while, the guard of the gap looked on as though he’d gone insane.

The clues all stood intact. Eve's wagon, bright yellow and slightly singed, stood abandoned. Wide tracks had seared the grass from a large, heavy carriage, likely the one which had carried Gadreel away with the Witch Queen.

Eve’s ashes scattered upon the ground, a gruesome shape seared into the grassy field. Her coat laid some distance away, torn off by the force of Abaddon’s magic. Something white caught Sam’s eye, and with some astonishment, realized he gazed upon the snowdrop he’d dealt away. He still had the one she’d given him as a replacement, but it certainly hadn’t brought them any luck at all. He swooped down to grab it, because when dealing with a witch of unimaginable power, he’d desperately need more luck.

But even with the snowdrop returned to him, safely tucked into his coat pocket, he had little idea of what to do. Run back to the market town for help? But who would answer a call to challenge the almighty Witch Queen?

And even if he could find allies, he would never catch up with Abaddon, not at this rate! He turned about frantically in place, desperate for some scrap of hope which might propel him forward. 

He examined Eve's caravan once more, and realized her horses still grazed nearby. Both had broken free of the wagon, but the tame beasts munched on bright, green grass nearby. He charged towards one and climbed atop, taking the reins in hand. Sam guided it towards the direction of the carriage tracks and urged the horse forward into a gallop.

 

  


 

Abaddon had abandoned the use of her spellcraft to urge her horses on. She had little power left to use, and so, she had taken up the reigns, which she snapped over the quartet of horses.

Finally, she had captured the star—and a bonus slave, as well! It had taken much effort, but she'd succeeded. She could hear it, the frightened, labored sounds of its breath as the carriage raced towards her home. She hated the dim, frightened thing its heart had become, and regretted how she could not rekindle its powerful light into all its heavenly glory. It rather didn't help that it knew what she meant to do.

But a frightened heart served her better than no heart at all, and once she and her sisters had harnessed the power of it, they would seek out the other star which had thwarted her in the inn with its searing light.

Abaddon still did not understand what had happened. How had the blue-eyed star had made fire from light, more vengeful and hotter than her own spell-fire? But then, if he were the star which had fallen a hundred years before, he’d had ample time to learn how to use his light.

This star, however, had had no such time to learn. Tall and imposing as its physical form may seem, this star stood weak and powerless against the world of Eden, barely a week into the world.

She guided the horses into the great stone gorge, riding alongside the great dry riverbank. The water had long dried from this place, and the trees and plants had all shriveled away in the presence of the coven's black magic, but deep, deep underground remained water which they exploited.

She cackled to herself. Even the water fled from her power. All feared Her Dark Majesty, the Witch Queen, from even whom nature recoiled.

And finally, she’d returned home. Her castle stood nestled against the termination of the gorge, its stony walls made from the same rock which lined the deep walls. It nearly vanished into the rock itself. If a lost traveler had ventured this far without turning back (and the uninitiated would find it a most disturbing hike) they would still not see her castle unless they knew to look for it. 

The ride through the rocky floor jarred her teeth, and her joints ached with deep, terrible throbs. She had become older than she’d ever been, and had used more power than she’d ever needed to capture a star.

But no matter. Within an hour's time, she would regain all she had lost, and have more youth than she had known in centuries.

Abaddon pulled the carriage in front of the great doors which marked entrance to the dark castle. She did not bother to hide the carriage, or to pull it somewhere that passed for appropriate storage. She had waited long enough for this; toiled hard for it. She would have her reward now.

Getting down from the carriage's perch had become quite difficult in her state. Her bones creaked, and when she finally stood upon the ground, her back hunched over with effort. It caused her pain to stand straight, so she decided to ignore the poor form. It would trouble her no more within an hour’s time.

She approached the door, and spared a moment to leer inside at her captives. The woman offered comfort to the star, her arms around it, but she met Abaddon's eyes. The star also turned its head, staring back at the Witch Queen with something akin to resignation.

Excellent. Perhaps it would not struggle. The last star had been quite a chore to kill, squirming about and crying as she had.

Abaddon opened the door, and reached to the ground, taking the silver chain in hand.

"Coming?" she asked, her voice crackled and aged.

The star and the woman exchanged a glance, and they quietly got to their feet, moving to follow Abaddon. The witch silently thanked the Fates she wouldn't have to drag the pair inside. She didn't feel up to much more magic today.

She approached the enchanted doors, and waved at them with her free hand. The old blood magic recognized her and opened at her command, admitting her inside with a loud creak and groan of metal and stone.

"The star!" Meg exclaimed, delighted. "And who else have you brought?"

"A slave for us," she answered, all the explanation necessary.

"Abaddon!" Ruby shouted. "You've returned! And not a moment too soon, I see. You look terrible!"

Abaddon met Ruby's eyes, and the both of them dissolved into hysterical laughter.

Meg didn’t seem in the mood to waste time, and so she stalked forward and put her hands on the star's arm. "Oh, this one is quite interesting. We've only ever seen the young maidens in the past."

Abaddon turned, tilting her head curiously as Ruby and Meg examined him. "Yes, it’s a bit different than what we're used to." And she took a step forward, catching the star's eye, and extended her fingertip to touch his chest. "But its heart burns all the same."

The resignation on its face faded just a fraction, showing an edge of fear, and Abaddon cackled.

"Let's get to work," she said, yanking its arm free of the chain and pulling him away from the woman. She took the end of the silver chain and wrapped it about the table, so their new slave couldn't run away or interfere.

"Did you ready the blade?"

Meg nodded. "All ready for showtime."

She flanked the star's other side and latched onto its arm, and with Ruby bringing up the rear, the star had nowhere to flee, if the notion had even entered its head to begin with. But as they tugged it along, the star did not struggle, and followed with some sort of grim acceptance, even with its obvious fear.

As they reached the grand staircase, Abaddon's grin faded somewhat, and the tiniest bit of a frown colored her once-red lips. The star's heart, which had long burned hot as silver fire in her mind as she sought it, now seemed dull and dark, as though it had burned out entirely and broken to pieces.

A star with a broken heart? Could it be? She stole a glance at it and wondered. If so, then its heart would give them no youth, not unless she could find a way to set it aglow again. What sort of foolishness had this star fallen into to break his own heart?

She sighed. Once they strapped it to their altar, its body all laid out for her to study, she would get to the truth of the matter.


	9. Shine

Sam rode hard for a solid hour, following the trail until it led him into the most dreary canyon. 

At first, he only saw the same gray rocks in every direction, running along a dry riverbank. Indeed, only the charred tracks of the cursed carriage carrying the Witch Queen and Gadreel led him forward.

Soon, however, the tracks became indistinguishable from the ashen ground, which caused the young man to halt his advance. His heart thundered in his chest as he examined all the different ways to go. His pressed the horse onward, frantic to find Gadreel, but he knew he had to get his bearings, lest desperation drive him in the wrong direction.

The gorge stretched ahead of him, ending in a craggy point some two or three miles ahead. At first, Sam saw nothing as he stared at the termination, but a tiny, black dot caught his eye, along with what seemed a cloud of ash and dust left by the carriage. Further staring at the wall revealed a strange symmetry about it. Perhaps a building or structure of some sort lay directly upon the stone? Or the shimmer of something else?

Nothing else stood out in any direction, and so he urged his horse onward again, racing as fast as possible to the anomalous view before him, all the while praying he had not made a mistake. But then, the stars didn’t awaken during the daylight, and probably couldn’t hear his prayers while he slept. He didn’t even know if they could help, anyway.

It seemed to take a long time, longer than he’d hoped, to reach the crag, and at first, he thought he’d taken a wrong turn. But then all at once he passed through some sort of barrier, and before him sat a mighty castle. Sam supposed it made sense. The Witch Queen would live nowhere else, would she?

He carefully stalked with his borrowed horse up behind the carriage, alighting from the tame beast and moving close to the ground to approach the doors—which of course, he imagined, he shouldn’t charge straight through, lest he die at before he had a chance to rescue his star. He had no magic, save for trinkets Balthazar and the other stars had gifted them, and none of those forces were of any use here.

A great crystal window towered within his reach, and he rose up on his legs to peer through. Inside, he saw three old woman—likely witches—moving about along a staircase; a woman in blue, chained to a table; and Gadreel, flanked on either side by the old women.

A great wave of relief passed through him as he realized his beloved star yet lived, but the same paralyzing fear which had seized him for hours made itself known once more. He was but a man, and had no magic. If Abaddon had killed Eve so gruesomely—the witch powerful enough to turn him to a dormouse—then what hope did he have against three witches all alone?

“Sam!” a voice called, hushed and strained with the effort of concealing itself.

He nearly jumped straight up at the sound, drawing a small knife and turning on his heels. But across the window, his own sword drawn, crouched Adam, the young man whom he’d rode with nights before.

“Adam!” he breathed, relief flooding through him. Clearly, the snowdrop had already brought him luck. “You survived?”

The young teen nodded. “Castiel—he’s a star, too—he glowed bright enough to make Abaddon flee. The inn simply dissolved around us. It must have been a product of her spellcraft.”

Sam nodded, his heart racing. He had expected as much.

He saved my life and Dean’s.” He paused. “I saw the witch riding through the market town, and deep within me I knew something was amiss. I consulted my runes, and they told me she knew where Gadreel hid, and she made her way to snatch him. I tried to find Castiel and Dean, but in the end, I knew I could not afford to wait for them, so I sent word and rode off alone.” He paused. “I see you’re here, too.”

“I’m here for Gadreel,” Sam answered. “They’ve taken him, and they’re going to cut out his heart!”

“I know,” Adam said. “I’m here to help. I hope Dean and Castiel shall follow along quickly, but we can’t delay for your star’s sake.”

He had known the young man only briefly, and blinked in surprised that such a youth would follow them across all Eden so selflessly. “Really? You’re just… going to charge into this ridiculously deadly situation, just like that?”

He sighed. “I’m afraid I was not entirely honest with you when we met in the storm. I am Prince Adam Milligan, an heir of the Kingdom of Eden, and your star wears the Jewel of Eden about his neck. From what I’ve come to understand, the pendant knocked Gadreel from the sky when my father sent it flying through the heavens, and so, I and my family owe a debt to your star to help make this sin right.”

Sam considered it a moment, but knew every moment counted against them. He’d worry about it all later. “Okay. Okay. They’re inside now, and I don’t think they’ll wait too long. What do we do? I’ve never launched an assault on a coven of witches before.”

He had never launched an attack of any sort before, other than the rivalry found in swordplay and fencing… but perhaps it best remained unsaid at the moment.

Adam nodded. “Then do as I say,” he answered, “and we may have a chance.”

He moved to crawl around to the door, but Sam snaked out a long arm to grab him. “Wait. Take this.” And he gave Adam the lesser snowdrop which he’d received from Eve, but the more powerful one from his mother he kept for himself. 

The young prince’s eyes went wide, and he nodded, tucking it within his coat. “You’ve given me quite a token,” he said.

“Help me save Gadreel’s life, and it’s all yours,” Sam said. “I don’t need anything else; just him.”

Adam made his way to the door, and Sam crawled underneath the window, careful to evade sight. Adam motioned towards the door, his hand closing around a handle, and Sam frowned.

“You don’t mean to charge straight through the front door, do you?” he sputtered. “Isn’t that suicide?”

“There is no favorable way to take on a witch without magic,” he said, “much less three.”

It sounded reasonable enough—assuming reason had anything to do with their current predicament—so Sam nodded his agreement. He moved over beside Adam, and also put his free hand upon the great door handle, for it seemed far too heavy for the much smaller prince. Together they pulled, and to Sam’s great astonishment, the door felt feather-light. He had no time to dwell upon it, for at once he raced through the door with Adam, sword drawn and shouting.

At first, Sam only saw the glimmering, shiny halls of the onyx floor and the candlelight which reflected in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors from a dozen chandeliers. But a moment later, he saw the edge of a blue tunic, strapped to a table above the stairway, and three old women crowded around him.

“Let him go!” Sam screamed, and felt momentarily flustered. Of all the battle cries he might have shouted, he grimaced at the ridiculousness of it. 

“Release the star at once!” Adam shouted.

The three women spun on their heels, as did the woman in blue, still chained to a nearby table. Sam could only just see the side of Gadreel’s upper body, but he just saw his head turn in his direction. And then, the telltale glow of his light, sparking bright for a moment. 

Abaddon seemed preoccupied with Gadreel’s glow for a moment, and Sam wondered if she felt alarmed. After all, when Castiel had glowed, he had nearly harmed her.

“The star’s heart belongs to us!” one of the witches shouted.

“Gadreel’s heart belongs to himself!” Sam countered, his sweaty palm adjusting around the hilt of his sword. “You’ll not take it from him!”

The light which had sparked from his star before returned, this time a low, constant glow. But Sam didn’t have time to worry about the mechanics of light and how stars shone. He only had time to worry about his beloved and how to save him.

“Meg, dispatch him,” Abaddon said.

The same witch who’d shouted at him earlier charged, leaping over the partition and dropping to her feet on the onyx floor. She charged towards Adam and Sam with a predatory grin, and brandished a silver blade of her own. Sam’s stomach turned when he recognized it as the blade of a star, no doubt stolen when these witches had killed one in the past.

Sam and Adam shared a panicked glance, but Sam’s eyes settled beyond the young prince to a long, nearly endless row of animal cages. They shook and trembled as the animals threw themselves against it, seemingly in the direction of Meg herself, and their low noises had grown to a fevered pitch.

“The animals,” he said, and Adam also turned his head, just before turning back towards Meg.

Sam did not await further confirmation. He charged for the cages and used his sword to break the locks which held them captive. The first cage he broke open—a lioness—stumbled out in momentary confusion before growling. Sam wondered if he had not made a grave mistake, but an instant later, the lioness took off in a dead run for the witch, roaring mightily.

Meg let out a shriek, and attacked the charging lion, running it through with her blade. But Sam’s theory had been confirmed, and he turned to break the locks on every cage he could reach. Within seconds, Adam joined him by his side, sword also easily up to the task of breaking locks.

A cacophony of animals charged towards the witch—predatory cats, mice, ferrets, even an alligator. Meg fought and killed a few, but their sheer number overwhelmed her, and her screams echoed through the grand hall until they fell silent. And then, shortly afterwards, the animals all fled out the door, leaving a corpse behind. It dissolved into dust where it laid, and the particles scattered on the onyx floor.

Her stolen star’s blade remained, and when Sam glanced up at Abaddon, who ground her teeth in anger, he feared she might run Gadreel through with the blade in her hand before either man had a chance to reach them. He made a break for the blade, and even though he had only moderate experience with throwing knives at targets, he remembered the snowdrop and hoped he was, in fact, lucky enough. Dropping to his knees and sliding across the floor, he took the silver blade within his hand and threw it with all his might, aiming for Abaddon.

A great noise of metal upon metal sounded, and Sam glanced up to see sparks flying to Abaddon’s left, and Gadreel flinching away from the contact. Sam had not struck Abaddon directly, but the blade had made contact with her own, knocking it from her hand and leaving her unarmed.

She growled, her crackling voice rising in volume. “Ruby! Destroy these fools!”

Unlike Meg, who had charged as though rabid, Ruby swung her legs over the railing and dropped down easily, a fluttering piece of silk in the dark and foreboding chamber. She glided towards them, her steps sultry and measured, and Sam could imagine her as a lovely young woman. But she possessed a deadly beauty about her, even in her old age. Silver-haired and slender, her eyes burned with confidence and knowledge.

Sam’s hand tightened around his sword as she approached, and he felt gratitude when Adam flanked Ruby on her opposite side.

“Hello, boys,” she said, “I haven’t had a chance to do this in ages.”

Her free hand swooped up and around, like a strange roulette game, and extended in Adam’s direction. Flames shot his way hot and bright, and Sam had to duck out of the way.

But as luck had it, the flames mostly fanned around the youth, deflecting harmlessly into the air. Only a small stripe of fire caught upon his arm, which he quickly swatted out.

Ruby seemed perplexed by this, and so she turned upon Sam, who had no time to flee the barrel of flame which came in his direction. Vaguely, Sam heard a maelstrom of sound explode around him: the rumble of flame, the whooshing wind of the snowdrop charm deflecting it, and, further away, Gadreel’s shout of alarm.

When the flame stopped, Sam stood back to his full height, and noted not even a single hair on his head had been singed. Superior snowdrop charm indeed. No wonder Eve had wanted it back.

Ruby tilted her head, her gray-brown eyes staring on with some confusion.

“I guess you could say we’re a bit lucky,” Adam told her, and Sam could see the precise moment her eyes came to rest upon the snowdrop in his coat pocket.

“Clever, boys,” she said, nodding with an expression resembling respect. She twirled her blade in her hand, and bared yellowed teeth in a grin. “I’ll take you down the old fashioned way, then.” 

And then she flung herself upon them, a flurry of movement and prowess with her sword Sam could only hope to master one day. Indeed, if it had not been for Adam’s assistance, he would have fallen by Ruby’s hand quickly. But the old witch had become slower than she had been in her prime—slow enough, at any rate, for Adam and Sam to slowly cut into her defense. And within only a few scant minutes, Adam succeeded in running her through. And when that did not seem to kill her, Sam moved in swiftly, swinging with his sword and cutting the head from her shoulders.

The move horrified him, truthfully, and he didn’t quite know how to deal with the fact he’d just decapitated someone. But he would deal with the emotions later, when Gadreel’s life did not hang in the balance, and the Witch Queen didn’t hover before them still. But for the first time, Sam believed maybe, just maybe, they could somehow survive this and save his star.

Ruby’s body fell to the ground just as Meg’s had, as though made of ash. It turned to dust within moments, and seemed as though she’d never stood there at all.

This time, Abaddon let loose a mighty cry, angered beyond Sam’s imagining. She took her blade, the one meant for Gadreel, and approached, stalking down the staircase like a lion. She appeared no less intimidating and frightful in her old age as she had been in her youth, and Sam’s hand trembled about the hilt of his sword.

But Adam stood tall beside him, ready to fight with him, and Sam would offer a prayer of thanks for the young prince. Assuming they all lived, and perhaps even from the afterlife if they didn’t.

When she had descended the staircase, Sam got his first thorough observation of her since the inn. While traces remained of the deep, vibrant red he'd seen before, the remnants of color now pinched out at the ends as awful stains. She had gone gray, and her perfect teeth had turned yellow and crooked. Even her eyes had faded in color. 

But what she lacked in beauty, she had droves in spirit. The aura of power about her and the predatory edge to her movement both amplified until the air felt thick with it. And Sam imagined she had little to lose at this point. 

"Why do you need to do this?" he asked. "You're powerful without youth. Why do you need to kill a star to gain it?"

For a moment, her advance halted and the oppressive air about her ceased. But it lasted only a moment, her surprise dissolving.

"To have youth eternal is to live forever," she answered. "I would remain young into the next age of man, and could rule all the world with my power."

Sam frowned, and his eyes lifted to stare at Gadreel, still tied to the table above. But those green eyes stared down with grim fear, and Sam would do anything to take that expression from him. 

Sam again lowered his eyes, meeting Abaddon's once more. "It sounds lonely."

She growled, and it had a strange, feral edge to it. "You can't tell me you've never been tempted by his heart, boy. Not in all the time you've traveled with him?"

Sam again stared up at Gadreel, who gazed back.

"Yes," he admitted, "I want his heart, but not the same way you do. I want it right there where it beats, safe in his chest, so he can do with it what he will. But I am not unselfish. I hope he uses it to love me, just as I love him." 

Gadreel glowed in response, a pulse of light which, for a moment, chased away the shadows. Even Abaddon turned to stare, seemingly surprised.

Sam took a cautious step forward, meeting the eyes of the Witch Queen's. "I pity you, Abaddon. You might live forever, but only by destroying everything else around you. You don't know love. Have you ever even had a gentle touch, or someone who loved you?"

"My sisters loved me!" she hissed, but her voice became thick and heavy. "And you killed them!" 

She charged at Sam, her fury a thing the likes of which Sam had never seen. Even with Adam fighting her, the pair of men could scarcely hold their own. Abaddon advanced, and the pair lost ground.

And then, the tides turned. Adam landed a blow, which injured one of Abaddon's arms, causing her to drop one of her blades. As the young prince cornered her, he shouted at Sam.

"Go!" he said. "Get Gadreel!"

Sam hesitated to leave Adam, but he seemed to have things well under control, and Sam wanted to get his star and leave. He raced up the staircase, and found Gadreel on a flat table of cold granite, hands bound on either side, and countless straps holding him in place. No doubt, he noted with some horror, to keep the stars still while the witches carved out their hearts. Sam wasted no time in trying to free him.

"You came back," the star breathed, staring up at him. 

He seemed overcome, and Sam spared a moment to touch his face. "Of course I did. I love you, Gadreel."

The noise of the battle had become more labored, and Sam spared a glance to see the tide had turned against Adam. He thought to race by the youth's side, but as soon as he thought it, Abaddon succeeded in disarming him. And to Sam's great horror, she stabbed him through the shoulder with her sword. It did not seem to kill him, but he collapsed upon the ground, unable to continue the fight. 

The Witch Queen glared upwards, locking her eyes with Sam, and he knew at once the situation would worsen quickly. 

Sam frantically tore at the straps, trying to undo the strange clasps on the thick leather binds. 

Abaddon ascended the staircase without breaking her eyes from Sam, and she moved at a startling rate. 

Sam managed to free only one of Gadreel's arms, and knew he would make no further progress before Abaddon attacked him. He thrust the hilt of his knife into Gadreel's hand. 

"Cut yourself loose!" he shouted, just in time to block Abaddon's strike with his sword. "Quickly!"

The battle began viciously, both parties already desperate. Abaddon had the skills of a master swordsman, and she used every method to wear down Sam's defense. He realized now she’d only feigned weakness and injury before, no doubt to separate him and Adam. As Sam grew short of breath and tired, Abaddon only seemed to become more energetic, as though feeding off his distress.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see Gadreel attempting to cut through the straps, but to no avail. The knife he'd given him had a sharp edge, but similar to everything else here, the binds seemed enchanted and warded against such a simple method. At some point, Gadreel realized this, and Sam became painfully aware of the star's eyes upon his back. 

And then Sam's luck dried up, and Abaddon disarmed him. She held the edge of her silvery blade to his neck, and backed him against the table. Covered in sweat and panting, he had no more tricks or weapons to pull.

As terror for the gruesome way in which he would die wound through his heart, he feared for Gadreel, too. Not only would the star have to endure the ritual of having his heart cut out, he'd have to watch Sam die beforehand.

Gadreel's bound hand rested just close enough to touch Sam's hand, where the human braced his tired, aching body as he leaned backwards over the table. And so the star covered Sam's hand with his own, and Sam, not able to turn his head turned his hand instead, threading his fingers through with the star’s.

They would, neither of them, die alone.

But something subtle had changed in Abaddon's glare. Still full of rage, but pained. Anguished. Her eyes fell upon the floor below, and Sam wondered if she stared at the ashes of her sisters. But he did not have long to think on it, for she lifted up her stolen blade, and brought it down. 

The instant before, Sam had squeezed his eyes shut on instinct, and when the blade connected with its target, he jumped, and Gadreel let loose an anguished "No!" 

It took a moment for Sam to realize he felt no pain. 

He opened his eyes, and saw Abaddon had instead struck the loose end of the binding on Gadreel's hand, and before his eyes, it fell away. 

For an instant, he stared at Gadreel, who seemed as shocked as he. When Sam turned his stare upon Abaddon, her eyes watered with unshed tears. She threw her blade to the floor, where it clattered angrily against the dark stone.

"You... you come in here, you kill my sisters, all in the name of love? We could have been young until the next age of mankind! My sisters and I could have ruled Eden! But without them, I...."

Her voice trailed off, and a sob tore loose from her lips. Her imposing form folded in upon itself, and she wept fat, bitter tears. 

"Without them, I have nothing, and life has lost all meaning." She backed away, hunched over. 

Sam could scarcely believe what he heard. All their fighting, all the horrible ways it could end, and this misery revealed the true side of the Witch Queen? Weeping over her fallen sisters?

"Go," she murmured, between tears. "Just take your star and go."

Sam blinked, once, twice, and then he spun on his feet and began to undo Gadreel's restraints as quickly as possible. He didn’t need further prompting.

A glance down to the ground floor showed the woman in blue, somehow free of her earlier chain, tending to Adam. He thankfully still drew breath and Sam waved his arm.

"Go outside! Quickly! We're right behind you."

The woman smiled, and Adam seemed as amazed as Sam felt, but he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. 

 

  


 

Gadreel had expected only one outcome when he had been led inside of this fortress in chains. His heart had been shattered into a thousand pieces, and he'd not thought he would ever see Sam again. And perhaps much worse, he had thought Sam did not wish to see him ever again. 

But there Sam stood, and though Gadreel had no idea what had occurred for him to return, he felt so, _so_ grateful. For a moment, he could do naught but smile. 

But as Sam hurried to free him, the star stared at the hunched, weeping form of the Witch Queen, and found he pitied her even as he feared her. She seemed a most miserable woman with a miserable existence, and though he could not say he felt sorrow for her fallen sisters—for it meant life and freedom for he and Sam—he felt her pitiable. 

When Sam pulled away the last strap, Gadreel sat up and took his hand, hopping from the table. He followed him down the stairs, where Sam rushed so quickly he could hardly keep up. 

His smile had returned, and he could feel his heart aglow within his chest once more, mended and whole as though it had never broken. The others had made it out the door, to freedom. Gadreel could see the gray rock beyond, and in just a few steps, he would see the sky again....

And then, the door slammed shut, and the windows blacked out around them. 

Sam skidded to a halt just as Abaddon's weeping turned to maniacal laughter, loud and terrible. And with a rush of horror, Gadreel _understood_. 

It seemed clear Sam did not, his eyes darting about frantically until the mirrors began to shatter.

Gadreel could not hold in a startled shout. Sam took off, darting away from the flying glass, dragging Gadreel along behind him. More glass shattered all about them, chaos erupting everywhere, and when they could no longer flee, Sam pushed Gadreel to the ground and covered him with his own body. The star did not think to protest, though on the slim chance either survived this, he would. Later.

After some time, the chaos ceased, and the pair of them peered out. Sam’s face had become peppered with cuts from the flying glass, but Gadreel could not afford to pay them any mind. Not yet.

The sound of metal scraping against stone echoed across the eerily quiet room, and then another cackle—Abaddon's. She moved closer, star blade in hand, and all the evil had returned to her form. It had never left, of course, as it had all been a ruse. Gadreel understood. 

"Do you think I became the Witch Queen by being so soft, boy?" she remarked, voice dancing with amusement. "But I do owe you many thanks. His heart was of little use to me, broken as it was, but now it glows, bright and hot like silver fire. And since you killed my sisters, I shall not have to share it at all."

Pity, indeed. This woman had no redeemable thing about her. How sad.

His beloved marched forward, placing himself in between Abaddon's path and Gadreel, as if his body could provide any true barrier to the Witch Queen. He stood with purpose, prepared to die to give Gadreel even the tiniest sliver of a chance. Gadreel moved forward, wrapping an arm around from behind to touch Sam’s heart.

No one else could help them. Mary and the young man who'd arrived with Sam stood outside, on the opposite side of the sealed exits. Sam stood weaponless, exhausted, and injured, his blood staining Gadreel's sleeve as he rested his hand upon Sam's chest. His human could fight no longer, and Gadreel had never learned how to use a sword in the first place.

But Gadreel felt no fear as he looked upon the Witch Queen. He felt love, consuming and radiant, and even now it threatened to break loose from his heart and illuminate all around him. And as always, he contained it, lest he blind Sam, and burn all around him to ashes.

But as she stalked closer, blade lifted, the star wondered if there might exist a pearl of wisdom within such an action. For if she _truly_ wanted to behold the power of his burning heart, then perhaps Gadreel would show her just that. 

“Sam.” He moved closer, taking his beloved in his arms. “Hold me tight, and close your eyes.”

Sam stared, confused. “What? Why?” Then a moment later: "What are you going to do?"

Gadreel smiled. “What do stars do, Sam Winchester?” 

Gadreel wrapped him in his arms, and Sam followed easily, pressing his forehead against Gadreel's shoulder, his arms around the star. And Gadreel leaned forward to whisper in his ear, his eyes cutting across to the witch who still advanced.

" _Shine_."

And he reached within his chest, within the part of him he had tried so hard to control, and set it free. The fire of his heart burned bright, as it had done countless times in the sky. But this time… _this time_ , his love fueled his light, and Gadreel knew if he allowed it to shine unencumbered, it would light the entire world with its radiance. 

And so the light grew, spilling forth from his skin and out of his mouth and eyes, blue-white and strong and pure in a way it had never felt before. Sam shifted in his arms, and Gadreel rubbed his back to reassure him. He lifted a hand to thread in his hair, urging his face down, hoping he had shut his eyes as he'd asked. 

As his light grew brighter and brighter, Abaddon halted her advance, her head tilted curiously, as if the star merely presented a sort of puzzle. But Gadreel could only smile as his heart ignited within him, the light growing immeasurably brighter, and Abaddon gasped in pain, dropping the sword she'd stolen from another slain star, ages ago. 

Gadreel tightened his arms around Sam to protect him and shone. And when Abaddon's screamed, when his holy light burned through her skin, reducing her to ashes, he felt a well of great relief within him.

And then, he pulled back on his light, cooling the fire, confining the most fierce of the glow to only his heart. And carefully, gently, released his tight grip upon Sam.

His human blinked several times, as though he had spots in his eyes, and for a brief moment Gadreel feared he might have blinded his beloved. 

"That was amazing!" he shouted, and seized Gadreel’s form, kissing him all about the face. "I didn't know.... I mean I should have realized you could do that, but you were amazing!"

He held Gadreel's face in his hands, and the star could only smile back.

"Why didn't you do that before?" Sam asked.

"I could not shine without you," he answered. "No star can shine with a broken heart. When you returned and declared you loved me, my heart mended itself, and my light kindled anew."

Sam's smile grew so wide it looked as though it might split his face, and with crinkled eyes and a joyous laugh upon his lips, he kissed Gadreel again and again. And Gadreel thought the human, if he were a star himself, could light up the sky brighter than the sun with only the power of his joy he so freely displayed. 

"I thought you had left me," Gadreel admitted. "I thought you had gone to your swordsmith."

"I only went to turn him down," Sam explained. "I took your sword to show him only, never to give to him. But when I tried to present it, the blade had turned to stardust. The moment I saw it, I panicked. I realized you couldn't cross the wall, and I ran all the way back. But I was too late. Abaddon had already taken you."

Gadreel's eyes fluttered shut in understanding. "I understand now."

Sam's hands dropped to his shoulders, and he squeezed gently. "Why did you follow me and try to cross the wall if you'd thought I'd left?"

"I am bound to you, remember? Whither thou goest, there also I shall go." Gadreel reached out and touched Sam's cheeks, hot and sweaty and bleeding, and wished he had some ability to heal them. 

"You... I...." And then Sam's head drooped, a terrible expression of guilt settling upon his face. “This is my fault.”

"No, Sam," he comforted. "I want to always go with you, wherever you are."

"You're not bound to me, Gadreel. I release you from the oath."

And before the star could protest, he felt the spell-threads of ancient magic dissolve. But his love remained, and his desire had not changed.

"You can always go with me, Gadreel," Sam said. "But I want you to do it only because it's what you want. Not what you're forced to do."

The star thought of commenting on Sam's actions, but thought the better of it. 

"Then I shall always go with you, Sam."

Just then, the great doors swung open, and the young man and the woman came running inside, hands clasped together. Upon closer inspection, Gadreel realized it was Adam, the same young man who happened across Abaddon’s spellcrafted inn. How had he survived?

"You did it!" Adam shouted, joy and relief evident upon his face. "You defeated her!"

Gadreel smiled, and looked back at Sam, who also smiled, his eyes scanning the pair as they embraced.

“Do you two know each other?” he asked.

“This is my half-sister!” Adam exclaimed. “Lost for decades, and now known to us!”

Gadreel smiled widely, glad they had been reunited. 

"I must admit, I do not know why you’ve both helped me, but I owe you a debt of gratitude," he told Adam. 

"Ah, about that," Adam said. "The necklace you've been carrying around..."

Gadreel quirked an eyebrow. "The one which knocked me from the sky?"

"Yes. I'm afraid the royal house of Eden owes you a great debt. My father, upon his deathbed, sent it flying into the Heavens."

"I did witness the occasion, yes," he answered, voice dry. But he paused, staring at the young man. He realized he gazed upon the young prince of Eden, whom he had occasionally watched from his vantage point in the sky. "So, you are the youngest son, Adam. The one whose heart remains free of wickedness."

Adam seemed humbled by this statement, and bowed his head. "You flatter me."

"I feel no anger towards you and your kin," he finally told him, "for I would not have met Sam if I had not fallen."

Adam smiled, and shared a glance with the woman. 

"About the necklace," he said. "Where did it go? You're not wearing it anymore."

Gadreel frowned, and touched his hand to his neck. Adam spoke the truth. He must have broken its chain when he’d shone so brightly.

"If I don't seize it, my wicked brother will inherit the throne, so I’ve no choice."

Sam had taken to searching through the rubble, and made a noise of satisfaction when he located it. "Found it!" But as he took it in his hand, at once it turned a deep, striking red. 

Adam stared on in shock. "You're...? But how?"

"You are my son, Sam, the second of two.. The kingdom of Eden now belongs to you."

A thousand emotions flickered across the human’s face. "You're my... You're my _mother_!" He ignored everything else to run to his mother, wrapping her in his arms and embracing her.

Gadreel beamed. His beloved felt more emotion and joy over the fact he'd just met his mother than his newfound kingship. What a good heart he had.

Sam frowned, pulling away to stare at her. "But, wait... me? A king?"

"I'm so glad it's you," Adam said. "And not my brother. Or me."

Sam blinked and took a step backwards, staring at both of them. “I have a brother?”

Mary smiled, face bright and warm. “There’s so much to tell you.”


	10. He Who Holds the Heart of a Star...

Sam indeed had a great many things to learn. His coronation went down in history as a celebration the likes of which the land of Eden had never seen. 

Before hundreds of nobles, magicians, and other assorted important men and creatures of the land—and of course, his family and friends, including Balthazar and the other stars of the Celine—the palace bishop proclaimed his regnal name Sam the Just. He did not feel very prepared or confident, but he bowed his head before the bishop anyway, and followed procedure, sweat beading on his forehead as he knelt before all the land.

The bishop placed the heavy crown upon his head, and Sam sat upon the throne, the Jewel of Eden about his neck. To his right sat Lord Gadreel, the Guardian, from parts distant... though no one quite knew which parts, and the nobles all felt too embarrassed to ask. And if the Guardian covered the King’s shaking hands with one of his own, no one dared mention it. 

To the king’s left sat his newfound brother, Dean Winchester and his companion, Castiel the Mighty. His cousin, the kind and wise Adam Milligan sat on the far side of Gadreel, joined by the honorable Princess Mary Campbell and her consort, the Lord John Winchester.

As the years passed, some feared a crisis of succession, for King Sam had no children, and his association with Lord Gadreel, while not scandalous, certainly distressed the nobles in a time when heirs held the utmost importance. Dean’s association with Castiel the Mighty did nothing to alleviate their worry, either. But no crisis arose, for Adam the Wise had four children, and both Sam the Just and Dean the Valiant felt content to allow the throne to pass to his children.

But life could not always remain so pleasant and comfortable. Their parents grew old and gray, but did so in joy and bliss, and died together, smiles upon their lips. One day Dean and Castiel left the palace to join Balthazar and the other stars, and the palace heard nothing of them again. Adam and his wife grew old, and passed into the next life, leaving their children and grandchildren. Of their original family, only Sam and Gadreel remained. 

So Sam sat in his bed, old and gray, his body sometimes overcome with pain when he moved. Gadreel faithfully sat next to him, holding him and soothing his pain as best as he could with his light, still as youthful as he had been for his entire life. And so Sam lingered long past his normal lifespan, for so long as Gadreel loved him, his breath always came, and somehow, his body still worked. He who held the heart of a star would live forever, and Gadreel had given his to Sam. 

But Sam remained a human, and so his life could not remain rich and strong forever, even if he drew breath for eternity.

But for a time, it worked well. Sam could not bear the thought of dying, not because he feared death, but he knew his beloved would remain all alone, broken-hearted. And so he fought, and lived well enough for a time. 

But one day, a wondrous thing happened. After one hundred years of searching, a Babylon Candle had been found. 

"You can go home," Sam murmured.

"You could go with me," Gadreel whispered back.

So Sam gathered Adam’s children and grandchildren together, and smiled upon their weeping faces and felt comforted to know they all had good hearts about them. And so he took the Jewel of Eden from his neck, and set them upon a new chase for the throne.

And so Gadreel brought Sam the Babylon Candle, and they flew up to Heaven upon a chariot of candlelight, and became the twin stars of the night. 

Together, they still shine today. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this fic! If you enjoy Sadreel as a ship, feel free to check out my other story, _[Yesterday's Paradise](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1583144/chapters/3363350)_. Posting the last of that fic is my very next project.
> 
> Please please _please_ go and check out the [amazing artwork](http://tkodami.livejournal.com/5299.html) for this fic. I couldn't squeeze them all in here, but [TKodami](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TKodami/pseuds/TKodami) did such an amazing job with all the pieces. Please go give them love!


End file.
